Cure for Boredom
by Zoop
Summary: How do you keep a 10th walker busy after the Ring has been destroyed? Give her someone to play with! What better post-war playmate is there than a traumatized Uruk? COMPLETE
1. Killing Orcs is Good

**Chapter 1: Killing Orcs is Good**

Lynn sat draped across the table, chin resting on her arm, one hand slowly tipping a half-empty wineglass back and forth. Her green eyes stared intently at the liquid's movement as it shifted and sloshed.

Across from her, Aragorn's fingers were steepled before him, his elbows on the arms of his chair. Beside him, Arwen sat with her eyes cast down to her lap where she fretted with a bit of needlepoint that had long since lost any interest for her. To the king's other side, a stern-faced soldier glared at the woman with clear dislike.

"Lynn," the former ranger said quietly. Several pairs of eyes swiveled in his direction as he broke the tense silence. "What possessed you to steal this man's horse and ride it through the market like a wild woman?"

_...baskets flying...  
><em>_...men and women cursing, waving their fists...  
><em>_...wild, maniacal laughter..._

"Didn't steal it," she muttered, fixated on the glass.

"It belongs to me, you took it without my permission," the soldier growled. "That spells 'stealing' in my book."

"Read another one, then," she retorted. "I brought it back. Poor thing needed exercise."

"Not in the marketplace, and certainly not at the busiest time of day!" Aragorn snapped, momentarily losing his patience. "Lynn, I understand that you are restless, but acting out your frustrations will only cause someone to get hurt."

"Gimme a job, then," she said quietly. "Everyone had someplace to go after the war, except me. Isn't there something I can do that'll get me out of this god damned city?" Her eyes finally left the glass to pin Aragorn to the wall with their intense color.

"The only things my men are engaged in are hunting down the surviving orcs, and ensuring the law is upheld in the farther flung regions of the country. Which 'job' most appeals to you?"

"They both suck," she said dully. Heaving a great sigh, she said, "I guess I'll take the orcs."

"Good, that's settled then," Aragorn replied with relief. Arwen, however, was not so pleased.

"You would send a maiden alone into the wilds to fight orcs?"

Lynn snorted with grim amusement, but Aragorn overrode any comment she might have made. "No, my love, I will not be sending her alone. She will accompany several troops under Captain Delon's command."

At his words, the soldier straightened, a look of horror on his face. "Under _my_ command? What did I do?"

Grimacing, Aragorn replied, "You were unfortunate enough to be sitting next to me, and your men are preparing to depart in two days." Forcing an encouraging look that fooled no one, the king continued, "Take heart, Captain. She is a capable fighter, and if properly motivated, may not give you _too_ much trouble." Shooting Lynn a significant look, he added, "_Will_ you, Lynn?"

She only grinned and winked. The Captain groaned.

* * *

><p>The trees gathered along the foothills of the White Mountains were thick and held their greenery even in the late fall, yet Lynn had other things on her mind than foliage. The Captain's trackers had discovered a recently used trail, and she was leading the troop investigating it. It did not take long for her men to locate a small camp of orcs.<p>

It was the first band they had seen in weeks of relentless searching. While Lynn was no stranger to battle, and certainly not adverse to slaying orcs, she couldn't help feeling a little...wrong...about attacking these lone groups. There were no reports of mischief from the last trio they had tracked and slain less than a month ago. This camp at least looked more permanent, and there had been some complaints of missing livestock. Yet she couldn't shake it. The war, after all, was over. In her own time, the last thing a victorious army would have done, or been allowed to do, was hunt down and slaughter non-combatants. At least they had not come across orc children. Yet.

With regret, Lynn gave the order, and the men descended upon the surprised orcs with a little too much zeal. The woman averted her eyes from the more blatantly vicious assaults, concentrating on ensuring none escaped the trap. Within minutes, all six were dead, and Lynn began investigating the shelters.

One tent was larger than the rest, clearly owned by the group's leader. Ducking inside with her sword drawn, Lynn surveyed the dimly lit hovel. Nothing moved, not even a breath of wind, which would have been welcomed in the foul-smelling tent. Sweeping the area, she was about to turn away when something caught her eye.

There was a body lying face down at the back of the dwelling.

Raising her sword, Lynn warily approached the still figure. They had watched the camp for hours, taken careful count. There were only six of them, and all had been slain. Was this extra one a sick companion, or a captive?

Her eyes finally adjusted to the dim light, and what she saw made her suck in a shocked breath. It was a really, _really_ big orc, possibly six and a half feet tall. The others in the camp were the typical squat, bandy-legged sort she'd seen in places like Moria, not even meeting her average height. This was obviously not one of them. Nudging the body with a foot, the orc did not respond, as if he were dead. Yet she could clearly see his ribs expanding and contracting with his shallow breathing.

His body was a disaster area. It didn't require a military background in this time or any other to recognize the signs of grievous torture. The orc had been beaten, whipped, burned with brands, starved, and...well, judging by the thick coating of blood down the backs of his legs, likely raped. His wrists were bound cruelly behind his back, his shoulders strained nearly to the breaking point by the severity of the angle. Not only his ankles, but his knees as well were tightly bound. He wore nothing but a pair of rough cloth breeches, long since soiled to the point of ruin by blood and waste.

While Lynn stood there staring at the orc, one of her men entered the tent.

"All is clear," he reported. "We got'em all...oh." Clearing his throat, the soldier said weakly, "What the hell happened to him?"

"I think," Lynn said, her voice unsteady. "I think he's an Isengarder. An Uruk, one of Saruman's."

"Weren't they all killed?"

"Apparently not."

"But," the soldier said, "why would the orcs do that to him? Aren't they all...I mean, they're all orcs, aren't they?"

The woman snorted. "The same can be said of the men of Harad, or Dunland. Are they not men? Why do we fight them? Aren't we all the same?"

"Hmmm. I see your point. What should we do with him?"

She thought for a moment. She could not, in good conscience, slay this orc, no matter how much suffering he may have caused during the war. He was helpless, abused, and likely on the point of death. Shaking her head, she said, "Bring him. Send someone ahead to prepare my tent for a badly injured patient, and make sure the healer has plenty of supplies on hand."

"May I ask why?" the soldier asked timidly.

_...no, you may not..._

Tearing her eyes from the orc's body, she faced the soldier sternly. "Are you such a monster that you would take his life as he is? Even apart from the morality of the situation, he may have valuable information. It is true, the Uruk-hai of Isengard were believed slain. If he is one of them, he may know of others who escaped. It would be wise to at least question him on the matter."

Once dragged out into the daylight, the terrible condition of the orc was even more obvious. His captors had been completely drunk with the feeling of power subduing such a formidable opponent must have given them. And to _keep_ him submissive clearly required a lot of rough handling. The back of his head, for one, was swollen and bloody from multiple blows. Cutting his bonds, Lynn rolled him onto his back and checked his pupils. The catlike slits were difficult to assess at first, but eventually she was able to deduce that he hadn't been permanently damaged by the cranial traumas. At least, the pupils reacted normally to light. Whether he would have the full use of his body when he woke was another matter.

There was a good deal of blood down the front of his breeches as well as the back, and the woman dreaded looking to see what damage had been done there.

They had not expected to haul an unconscious orc back to camp. Lynn oversaw her men draping the orc's limp body over the back of her horse, and reluctantly consented for him to be bound in case he woke in transit. But such was not to be. Whether the blow to his head kept him unconscious, or his captors had used some sort of drug to achieve their goal, the orc was not going to wake up anytime soon.

In fact, it was the following morning before anything like life stirred in the orc.

In the meantime, she had to face her own battles when Captain Delon saw the 'souvenir' she brought back from the raid.

"No," he said, shaking his head in denial. "No, you didn't. You did _not_ just bring an orc back to camp."

Rolling her eyes, Lynn turned away to direct her men toward her tent with their burden. "Yes. Yes, I did. If you'd open your eyes, you'd see why."

"My eyes _are_ open, and I see _orc_ filth." Wrinkling his nose as the men carried the orc past, he said, "I smell it, too. What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was _thinking_ that we aren't supposed to be heartless, cruel, and mean. Look at him. If he were a man or woman of Gondor we'd found, you would have not only praised my actions, you would have sworn vengeance on his abusers. Hell, I'm sure you would have somehow resurrected their corpses so you could kill them again for what they did."

Delon rubbed his forehead in an attempt to stave off a full-blown migraine. This woman was so blasted infuriating! "He is not a man or woman of Gondor, or Rohan, or Eregion, or any number of civilized places. He is an _orc_, and I don't give a damn what his kind do to one another."

Crossing her arms over her chest in defiance, she stuck out her chin. "What's done is done. He's here, and he's in my care. Don't like it? Tough."

"I am your superior, and you will obey my orders! Get that piece of shit out of my camp!"

"I am not a soldier, and you can kiss my ass! He stays!"

Face purple with fury, Delon clenched his fists at his sides impotently. If he struck her, the majority of his men would protest his actions as behavior unbecoming an officer. Word would get back to his king. It didn't take a genius to see the folly of abusing the personal friend of one's sovereign, no matter how deserved. Lowering his voice to a menacing growl, the Captain snarled, "Keep him out of my sight, and out of trouble. The _tiniest_ hint I get that he's out of your control or poses a threat to _anyone_, he's dead. Are we clear?"

She had the good grace not to smirk, at least. Nodding stiffly, she threw him an only _slightly_ mocking salute, then stomped to her tent.


	2. Interrogation with Style

**Chapter 2: Interrogation with Style**

Marik, the company's healer, suddenly sympathized with everything his close friend, Captain Delon, had ever complained about Lynn.

"I don't care what condition it's in, I'm not touching it!" he roared. "It's filthy and it smells!"

"Fine! I'll wash him up, but you had damn well better come back and take care of him, or I _swear_ you'll wish you were dead!"

"You wouldn't dare," he hissed, suddenly realizing what 'washing' would entail. "No decent woman should have to look at..."

"I've never been accused of being a 'decent' woman," she snapped. "Now get out of my sight. I'll call for you when he's squeaky clean enough for your delicate sensibilities."

Lynn ducked into her tent and appraised the prone orc. The prudishness of these people was always good for a laugh, but at the moment, she couldn't muster any amusement. He was brutalized; there was nothing remotely sexy about that. Still, this would be the first opportunity she'd had since coming to Middle Earth to thoroughly examine an orc. From an anthropological perspective, it was the chance of a lifetime.

Fetching a bucket of hot water, soap, and several rags, she set to work. It was actually a good thing he was out cold; she was pretty sure at least some of those burns were third degree. Soap and water alone would have made them sting something fierce. His breeches she simply cut off without a thought of preserving them for his modesty. She'd secure other clothes for him at some point, but for now, he would probably heal better if all his wounds could breathe. And he had plenty. Every inch of his flesh was cut or burned, it seemed. Lynn was relieved to see that the blood down the front of his breeches must have come from the numerous deep cuts on his chest and belly; his genitals were intact. She tried not to stare at his impressive package; even flaccid, he was, shall we say, well made. When she inspected his backside, however, it was clear even to her inexperienced eyes that those tears could only have come from forced entry. The thought of anyone enduring such treatment made her stomach flip with revulsion.

His skin had appeared almost coal black, but under all the blood and grime from months of torture and neglect, he was actually a ruddy brown in color. He did not have skin like humans, so much as tough hide. And he had no hair on his body anywhere except on his head. Lynn couldn't help being fascinated by that revelation. It all but proved that, while humans and orcs may be somewhat related, orcs branched off from the primate tree far earlier than humans did. She was rather dismayed when she realized that his long, thick locks were too filthy for her to wash in her tent, and would have to be cut off.

Of course, nobody in camp had a pair of scissors, so Lynn was forced to use a sharp knife and saw through the matted hair. Yet again, she was grateful for his current state. She had a feeling that, as long as his hair was, it might just be a symbol of pride among his kind. He would not be happy when he woke to find it sheared off close to his scalp, no matter how clean he was otherwise. Which may be another thing to piss him off.

Sighing, she finished him up and draped a blanket over his naked body, then went to fetch Marik.

The reluctant healer's initial assessment noted a broken arm, broken femur, cracked pelvis, several broken ribs, eight of ten fingers broken, fractured skull, more contusions and abrasions than could be cataloged, malnutrition bordering on starvation, and clear signs of rape (she had hoped Marik would miss that). His other arm had been broken quite some time ago and healed badly. Marik grudgingly acknowledged that he would have to break the limb again to reset it properly.

He didn't want to give a damn about the orc, not with Lynn practically dancing from foot to foot behind him as he listed off the injuries. But when he thought about the men he'd patched up who'd been captured by orcs, or worse, the women who survived their raids... It was both satisfying and appallingly obscene to see how they treated one of their own. The deeper he delved into the orc's injuries, the closer he looked, the more he realized that this orc was, in many ways, treated far worse than any man. Marik found himself unwillingly curious about just what the orc had done to deserve such brutal treatment.

Setting the broken bones, including the fresh break Marik had to apply, then stitching and bandaging the worst of the orc's injuries, took hours even with Lynn's help. The woman surveyed their work and said he looked like a mummy, whatever that meant. Shaking his head and wiping the black blood from his hands, Marik left her to look after her new pet.

It was a rough night. Lynn paced nervously, checking on the orc several times to reassure herself he still breathed. He was so still, even his chest only moved a fraction of an inch. At some point, he must have drifted from unconsciousness into true sleep, for he took a deep breath, and seemed to settle. Shaking her head to clear it, Lynn dug in her pack and pulled out a book. It was a history of Gondor she'd been trying to muscle her way through for the past month. If it hadn't been written by someone who obviously sought to duplicate _The Silmarillion_ in dryness, she would have been further than two chapters in. Sighing, she sat next to her patient and began to read.

The sunlight shining through the entrance to her tent into her eyes stirred Lynn awake. She couldn't remember falling asleep, but must have done so. She still sat with her legs folded, not even straightening them out when she flopped over backwards into an exhausted stupor. Struggling to sit up, she stretched her back and looked at the orc's face. He was still out, or at least deeply asleep, so she rose stiffly and left the tent to rustle up some breakfast.

* * *

><p>He must be dead, the orc thought as he forced his eyes open to see a cream-colored canvas roof over his head. There were no laughing orcs jeering at him, poking him with swords, pawing his broken body. In fact, there was almost no sound at all, if one ignored birdsong. He tried to move, but nothing responded. He wasn't entirely surprised; the orcs had been thorough. He wondered briefly where they were. Perhaps they had gone out to hunt? It took him several heartbeats to realize that the pain he was feeling was muted, though it coursed throughout his body as if carried through his veins along with the blood. He had become accustomed to pain. It was a bitter reminder that he lived, if only to feed the malice of his captors.<p>

Voices were approaching, and the orc's brow furrowed. They were higher than he expected, not guttural like the other orcs', or his own. His heart fluttered in panic; they were men's voices.

The tent flap opened and two figures entered, one so slight of build the orc thought it was a child. They didn't look at him, but continued their conversation. It was then he realized the 'child' was actually a female.

"I don't give a rat's ass, Marik," she was saying. "You tell Delon I'm staying right here. He can't be moved. If you had any balls, you'd tell him the same thing."

"Dammit," the man whined. "You are under orders, just like the rest of us. And like it or not, Delon's your commander and you _will_ do what he tells you."

The woman stood straight and nearly bumped chests with the man. The orc noted her fierce expression, how she bared her teeth as she snarled her reply. "He's only _technically_ my commander, as you well know. I owe him no allegiance. I owe _no one_ my loyalty."

Marik took a step back so he could cross his arms over his chest, but he thrust his face forward tauntingly. "You obey our king."

"Only because he's earned my respect. You forget the part I played in the war."

The man rolled his eyes and turned away. "Yes, yes, yes, tell me of your deeds, I long to hear them," he retorted sarcastically. Turning sharply back to her, he pointed at the prone orc. "_That_ is the sort of thing you slaughtered without a second thought at Helm's Deep, on the Pellenor Fields, and in the shadow of the Black Gate itself. What do you want with him now? War's over, so now it's time to snuggle up with orcs?"

He might have said something else, but the woman punched him in the face, delivering an unexpected left hook that nearly dropped the larger male to the floor. "You can take that shit and stick it up your ass, _boy_. Now get the fuck out of my tent before I rip your dick off and make you eat it!"

Rubbing his jaw, the man smirked. "Hit too close to the mark, did I?" he muttered, but took his leave before the fuming woman could strike him again.

"Mother fucker," she growled under her breath. "Dare show a kindness to anyone, and they assume fucking's involved somehow. Stupid bastards." Her muttered tirade abruptly halted when she glanced over and met the golden eyes of the orc.

Her expression immediately softened, such a huge contrast to how she had looked at the man that the orc was immediately suspicious.

"Hey," she said softly, kneeling at his side. "How ya feelin'?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. Humans could not be trusted. If he was now their captive, it would be information they sought, though he had none to give on any subject. Nothing that mattered, anyway.

"I'm guessing you hurt like hell," she said when he didn't answer. "That's understandable. They just about broke you in pieces. Marik, the douchebag who just left, thinks you did something to deserve it. I'm not buying it, but maybe you can tell me? Did you insult their moms or something?"

"Do...nuh...thing," he croaked slowly, his ragged throat so dry he could barely speak. Nothing had come from his lips for months except rage-filled roars and painful screams. Nobody had ever tried to engage him in conversation.

She nodded. "Thought so. As if orcs need an excuse." She gently patted his shoulder and stood. "I'll bet you're hungry. I'll run and get something. Don't be surprised if the Captain wanders in to pester you. He's kind of a douchebag, too."

Slowly, the orc raised his head slightly, looking down his body. He was covered with a blanket, and he could feel wrappings on his limbs and torso. Other than that, he could tell he was clean and unclothed. He tried to move his arms, but both were in splints, held rigidly and slightly bent, his hands resting on his belly beneath the blanket. He couldn't move his fingers at all. He found he could move one leg, the one that hadn't been broken, and weakly raised the knee. He felt a draft strike his abused lower regions as the blanket lifted, and he shuddered. He let his leg fall quickly. Memories crowded into his mind, of an orc at each limb holding him down while the other two took turns...

If he'd had anything in his stomach, he would have emptied it on the tent floor. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to banish the memory, but it persisted, followed by other recollections of violation, then beatings that almost made him wish they would go back to what they were doing before, until he was close to hyperventilating with fear and humiliation.

His thoughts were interrupted by the woman's return, but she was not alone.

"Look what I found nosing around the feed trough," she said, rolling her eyes with clear annoyance. A man dressed as an officer of the Gondoran army followed her inside. The man looked as if the orc were the most foul thing he'd ever beheld.

"Tell me where the others are, orc," the officer said coldly.

"Oh, blow it out your ass, Delon," the woman said dismissively as she knelt beside the orc with a platter of food. "All right, I'm going to prop you up some so you can eat, but try not to help, okay? You've got several broken ribs, and I think if you tighten any muscles at all, you're going to wish you hadn't. Ready?"

At his uncertain nod, the woman lifted him behind his shoulders and began wedging blankets and pillows behind him. He tried not to clench, but it was awkward and painful, and he finally gave in. She was right; it hurt like hell and he was very sorry for doing it. A groan escaped him.

"Told you," she commented, her voice strained from holding him up with one arm. Finally, she had things set up to her satisfaction and gently lowered him onto the linens. "Comfortable?" she asked. He nodded again. Now he could see around him better, though the hate-filled eyes of the officer held his attention.

"I didn't know what you'd like, but I know what you need," she bantered on, bringing the platter closer and cutting the meat into small pieces. His mouth watered at the sight of so much food after so long on little more than scraps when his captors troubled themselves to feed him, which wasn't often. "Don't snarf this down, now," she warned as she held a piece of meat up to his mouth. "You're going to have to eat slowly. Don't want to shock your system."

"And don't bite the hand that feeds you," the Captain snarled. The orc shot him a malicious look before taking the morsel from her fingers. She followed it with a sip of cool water, admonishing him gently when he tried to gulp it down.

"When you are finished coddling the beast, let me know," the officer said. "I have some questions for him."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm sure you do," she replied with little interest, offering the orc another bite of meat.

"Oh, and before I forget," he said at the tent entrance, flashing a cruel grin that only the orc saw, "I've sent word to Elrohir about your little discovery. He'll likely be here within a day or so, anxious to have a look for himself."

Though the woman didn't turn around, she stiffened, frozen in place and staring past the orc. He wasn't particularly good at reading human faces, but she looked rather agitated by this news. It clearly didn't mean good things.

Seemingly satisfied by her reaction, the officer left.

"Bad?" he asked when she finally resumed feeding him, her hands shaking slightly. She met his eyes.

"Yeah. Pretty god damned bad."

She said nothing else to him, keeping a thoughtful silence. He watched her face as she fed him bits of meat, bread, and some sweet fruit she called an apple. She didn't look him in the eyes, seemingly only interested in his mouth and the sharp teeth within, and only because she was delivering food there. Otherwise, her thoughts seemed to be miles away.

The silence continued until he had consumed all the food she brought. Shaking herself, she turned her full attention on her patient.

"Now that you have some solid food in you," she said, "you'll probably have to...at some point...you know." She jerked her chin several times, cocking her head to the side and raising her eyebrows. The orc just stared at her, baffled. Sighing deeply, she finally said, "Relieve yourself. Piss, you know? And...the other as well."

Now he got it, and frowned, looking away. The orcs hadn't cared much whether he soiled himself or not; why should she?

"So?" he said, shrugging dully. The movement, though slight, aggravated his shoulders, making him wince.

She blinked at him, bewildered. Remembering the state of his meager clothing, she sighed, and nodded. "They're dead." He slowly turned his head to look at her, his expression unreadable. "I found you and brought you here. Believe it or not, you're safe, and I'm trying to help you. If you need to relieve yourself, tell me. You don't have to lie in it."

"What you care?" he snarled bitterly. "Beast, me. Thing you kill. Leave in filth." His thin lips curled in disgust as he turned away. "Don't care."

"Okay," she said, relenting a little. "Suit yourself, I suppose. Since you're in my tent, and I'm still going to be sleeping in it, I just thought I'd keep it smelling fresh. By all means, though, if you'd rather wallow in your own waste like a pig, that's your business."

Casting about for some other subject, Lynn said, "So...which gauntlet did you survive? Helm's Deep, or Isengard?"

He kept his eyes on the tent wall, anger boiling up in his gut. "Isengard," he snarled, his guttural voice low.

"That must have sucked hard," she commented quietly. "What were you doing there?"

He shot her an annoyed look. "Make weapon."

She nodded. "A smith, then. That'll be why you didn't march with the main host. I was at Helm's Deep."

He shook his head and curled his lip with disdain. "No. You, woman. No fight."

She chuckled and patted his shoulder. "No, dear. I was on the battlements. I pushed ladders down, I gutted orcs with my swords, and I kicked many of your fellows back over the wall." Pulling her linen tunic open a few inches, she slid it aside to show a ragged scar where her neck met her shoulder. "Lucky blow. Not so lucky orc." She drew her finger across her throat.

Staring at the scar, the orc felt a familiar tremor pass through his lower gut. The old injury clearly dipped down between her breasts. If she would only pull her tunic a little lower, he might see more than just a tantalizing hint of rounded, soft flesh... He scowled, curling his lip and exposing his jagged teeth. "Kill you," he snarled.

Again, the woman laughed. "Not today, you won't. It'll take at least six weeks for your leg to bear weight again." Getting up, she went to a pack lying at the back of the tent. She pulled out a flask and a couple of small cups, then returned to sit cross-legged next to him. She poured some of the liquid into each cup, and held one up to his lips for him to drink. He jerked his head away.

"It's not poison. Look," she said, and sipped from the cup she was offering him. "Drink it." Still suspicious, he complied.

She smirked at his disgusted grimace. "Yeah, it tastes like shit, but it's the only booze I could find on short notice. Minas Tirith isn't exactly the party capital of Middle Earth." She took a long drink from her own cup, blanching in an almost exaggerated manner, and shaking her head like a dog with an ear mite. He grunted a short laugh.

"So, what shall we talk about, we two war veterans?" she said with a grin.

"Tell you nothing," he replied, looking away stubbornly, yet he accepted another sip of the vile alcohol.

"That's fine," she said, her tone amused. "We'll just get roaring drunk on this piss, do a few things we'll regret in the morning, and vomit in a bucket for the rest of the day. How's that sound?"

He slowly turned his head to look at her. He'd not spent much time with humans, none with their females, but he had certain expectations of their behavior. She was not living up to a single one. And she appeared to be a lightweight in terms of drinking. Already, her eyes were slightly hooded as she threw back the contents of her cup and refilled it.

"Well," she went on when he didn't answer, "it looks like I'll be doing most of the talking. No problem. I've been accused of having a lot to say. Or having nothing to say, and using a lot of words to do it. Something like that. Anyway, I had a really awesome adventure last year, you know." She emptied the cup in one gulp again and topped it off. As an afterthought, she let him have another drink from his cup. After a few swallows, it became more tolerable. He felt a pleasant buzz in his mind and felt almost like he could relax. Almost.

"Yeah, hauling ass around the countryside," she went on. "Kickin' orc ass here and there. No offense. Mostly trying to keep the kid with the Ring from dying." She focused her wandering eyes on him for a moment. He was staring at her intently. "Oh, yeah. I was with that guy. The Ringbearer. Frodo. He took the Ring to Mount Doom, tossed it in, and _fwoosh_." She threw her arms up in the air, sending the contents of her cup flying. "Sauron blows up like a fat guy in a Monty Python movie, all the orcs we were fighting suddenly drop like flies, hell breaks loose, the ground opens up, people are freaking out all over the place...Bad scene. Really bad. Sucked to be in Mordor _that_ day, let me tell you." She stared into her empty cup with clear confusion and annoyance, then shrugged and refilled it.

Lynn scowled at the orc, glared at the murky liquid in her cup, then shot him an accusatory look. "Either I'm shit-faced, or you aren't as ugly as you were ten minutes ago."

His eyebrows rose in surprise, then he sneered. "Must be shit-face."


	3. The Other Side of the Coin

**Chapter 3: The Other Side of the Coin**

She shrugged and nodded, downing the remainder quickly and clumsily sloshing more into the cup. Staring off into space for several minutes, her brows slowly drew together. "Ever get horny after a fight?"

The orc narrowed his eyes at her. Context and her current activities allowed him to guess the meaning of _shit-__faced_, but he had no idea what _horny_ was and said so.

"Ah, come on," she snorted, leaning precariously toward him. She poked him in the chest with fingers not currently wrapped around the cup. "You know what I'm talkin' 'bout. You're an orc; I thought you guys were like that all the time."

"Do not know 'horny'," he repeated with annoyance. He wished he could bat her hand away, but his injured shoulders hindered movement.

"God dammit," she huffed, shaking her head and looking past him at nothing again. "After Helm's Deep, I would have done every man in a ten mile radius." She threw back the potent drink and grimaced. "Orcs, too, if any lived. Probably have better luck with them, come to think of it."

Confused, the orc said tentatively, "Kill?"

She swung her attention back to his face, blinking a few times to get him into focus. "What? No! Fuck!" Refilling her cup and chuckling, she went on, "I came so close to dying so many times that night. What an adrenaline rush! Would've been on my back with my legs in the air for days if any of those retarded asswipes had been willing, but NOOOO, too _noble_, too _gallant_. Didn't want to _take advantage of a maiden_ or some such bullshit. Homos."

He blinked. While he didn't know Westron very well as a speaker, he could understand it well enough. What she was saying...well, he recognized the words, he was just baffled by the meaning. It didn't make any sense at all.

"You...," he hesitated, "fuck orc?"

Her eyebrows shot up and a stream of liquid shot from her mouth, then she burst out laughing. Her mirth overbalanced her, and she fell across his lap, rolling onto her back and howling. He almost yelled himself, for her head banged against his injured thigh. "Get off!" he roared, using his good leg to shove her.

The inebriated woman slowly spilled off him into a giggling heap. She eventually regained her composure and said, "No, I've never fucked an orc. I was being facetious. Kidding," she added . When he still looked uncomprehending, she rolled her eyes and said, "It was a _joke_."

He curled his lip at her, growling low in his throat. "Woman don't like fuck."

She chuckled lightly, refilling her cup yet again. "Oh, my god yes, we _do_ like to fuck." He snorted and shook his head. "Don't believe me?"

Sneering, he furrowed his brow and snarled, "Fuck woman once. Don't like fuck."

_...keep the fingers from your eyes, put full weight on the body, cover the mouth so the screaming doesn't hurt your ears, once you're in the fighting should stop..._

"Well, I'll wager you didn't ask her first," she said. "I'm guessing you don't have any idea what it's like, being with someone who wants you."

He only grunted a laugh, leering at her. His eyes traveled down her body, returning to her flushed face.

"I see," she said quietly. "I'm just a broken bone or two away from having you all over me, is that it?"

He nodded, drawing his tongue over his teeth.

"You dare threaten me with that," she hissed, "after what happened to _you_."

Startled, the orc's face went slack, eyes widening. Seeing she'd hit the mark, she continued mercilessly, "I take that back, maybe you _do_ know what it's like to fuck with someone who wants you. Something tells me you'd be the one on top, all evidence to the contrary. How nice of you to let them ride your ass once in awhile just to keep them interested."

He began to tremble with remembered shame and horror, feelings of helplessness, humiliation, futility surging to the fore. His breathing quickened in a familiar fight-or-flight manner, and he stared wide-eyed toward his feet, jaw clenched tightly.

Lynn felt like a total bitch, watching his reaction. Rubbing her eyes, trying to fight through the fuzz in her brain from the cheap booze, she sighed.

"I'm sorry," she said contritely. "That was uncalled-for. Nobody asks for that. I know you didn't. I'm sorry. Really sorry."

"Go," he snarled shakily, keeping his head bowed so she wouldn't see the pain in his eyes. "From me. Go now."

She got up awkwardly, swaying a little, and walked to the entrance. Pausing, she turned slightly. "Payback is hell, isn't it?" Then she left.

Hate was something he could cling to, an emotion that was less complicated to deal with. He wanted to hate that woman, for instance. It would be easier, far easier, than what was clawing its way to the surface.

_...strong...fierce...unafraid...saved me..._

She was right. Curse the woman, she was right. Now that she had so expertly drawn a comparison between his shame and his deeds, there was no way he could bring himself to inflict such humiliation on another living thing, not even a filthy whiteskin. It was not for empathic reasons, but to keep his own memories deeply buried. Seeing that kind of fear and shame in another's face would only bring his own experience sharply to mind.

In the silence of the tent, he tentatively rolled his shoulders. They ached badly. He was fairly sure he could not raise his heavy arms much. Attempting to do so now only convinced him it was folly. He had fought wildly against his captors on a daily basis. Pinned to the ground, he frequently bucked against them so hard his arms were dislocated from his shoulders. The pain he felt now was yet another reminder.

_...face pressed into the ground...knee in his spine...flaming stick held to his ribs...stench of burning flesh..._

Squeezing his eyes shut, he let his head fall back on the piled linens. Would no one slay him? He was a hated enemy to these _tarks_, yet he lived. His brothers had tortured and killed their people for years, even when no war was formally declared between his Master and their king. Yet he was spared. He was a broken husk, unable to fight, plagued by nightmares even in the daytime. His own kind would have put him out of his misery and beyond their concern long before now.

Yet...this woman said she was sorry. Her words caused him pain, and she said she was sorry. She spoke with him as if he were just another soldier. Treated him like an equal, not an animal.

Something was not right. He raised his head, feeling no resistance. The familiar tug at the back when he was leaning against his long hair was missing. He shook his head, but felt no loose strands whipping his cheeks. He suddenly became fully aware of how cold his ears were, exposed to the air.

Quivering angrily, he wanted to clench his fists, strike something, anything, but he could barely move a muscle. It took every ounce of his strength and determination to raise a heavily bandaged hand up to his head.

It was gone. All of it. The realization broke over him like a wave, and he roared with fury. Once loosed, he could not contain it, and he kept on bellowing, broken hand stuck to his head as if attached, eyes squeezed shut, willing it not to be so, begging for just one piece of his shattered dignity to be preserved.

He was surprised into silence by firm hands gripping his shoulders and shaking him. It was her, trying to sooth him with soft words he could barely hear over the rushing in his ears. She stroked his cheek, then did something that had an unexpected, shocking affect on him.

She lightly stroked his ear from pointed tip to base. A violent shudder ran through his body, leaving him weak and limp. It seemed that all of his strength rushed to one place as his member stiffened in response to the gentle caress. A feral growl welled up from his chest as he sunk against the linens and closed his eyes.

"Well, how about that?" she murmured, surprise in her voice. He didn't want to move lest the echo of her touch dissipate completely. Sighing, she rested her hand against his cheek. "Now I'm really sorry."

"_Amat_?" he croaked weakly, falling back into his own tongue as if the section of his brain containing Westron had been shut down. He didn't want words right now anyway, only sensations. [Translation: Why?]

"Is that the first time...," she said hesitantly. "I mean, judging by your expression, that was as much a surprise to you as it was to me."

"_Narkon grauruzugil-izish zash za_," he said in a low voice that sounded almost like the purr of a great cat to her ears. [Translation: No one has touched me like that before.]

"I'm sorry," she said again, "that the first time had to be from someone like me."

His brow furrowed, and he looked at her. "_Lat srinkhsha-izish_?" [Translation: You understand me?]

She nodded, smiling. "_Iist-izg kul turu_." Settling herself once more beside him, she held his bandaged hand between both of hers. "Now, what's got you all bent out of shape?" [Translation: I know many things.]

"Hair," he barked out, flaring suddenly with remembered anger. He tried to snatch his hand from her grip, but his shoulder protested, and the jerking movement caused needle-like pains to shoot through his fingers.

Lynn's smile faded, and a look of sympathy came to her face. "Finally noticed, huh? Look, I'm sorry about that. There wasn't anything I could do. I needed to clean you up or Marik wasn't even going to look at you. It's not exactly a mobile beauty salon we've got here. I couldn't even begin to wash all of that hair. So I...I had to cut it all off."

He squeezed his eyes shut. "Take everything," he snarled, his deep, guttural voice taking on a menacing tone. "Push us. Bury us under rock and tree. Kill us. No end." Frustrated with the limits of his vocabulary, he switched to orcish, voice rising with every word until he was yelling. "_Latu ûs kul-izgu hornu. Latu az-izishu nar znûg-sha. Latu tork kulûk uruk-hai-ghaaraz. Lat paashnar âdhnat flok-izub_?" [Translation: You think we are beasts. You kill us without regret. You take all things from the orcs. You cannot leave my hair?]

"Dammit, what is your name?" she shouted back.

Momentarily wrong-footed, he replied, "Ghrudur."

She blinked at him in disbelief. "No, it isn't."

"Yes, it is," he insisted.

"No way, did someone name you 'big dick.' That is...no, huh-uh."

"Not my name!" he roared, nearly coming off the pallet in his fury.

"Hello?" she said sarcastically. "Okay, sure, whatever. I'll pretend it's supposed to mean 'large club', if that'll make you feel better, but we both know '_ghru_' is a slang term for..."

"Shut mouth!" he bellowed, his body shaking all over.

"All right, _Ghrudur_," she said, emphasizing his name with a barely suppressed snicker, "truth is, your captors shit in your hair a few too many times for me to want to stick my hands in there to wash it. It was nothing personal, believe me." She looked away from his furious glare. "I sort of wondered if it was something you might be proud of, all that hair, as long as it was. I read a book once," she mused thoughtfully, "with this tribe of proud warriors. They had a tradition, that they would only cut their hair if they were defeated in battle. So, if they had really long hair, you knew they were strong and courageous. Unbeatable.1" She looked into his eyes. "Whether your people have a custom like that or not, it's obvious it meant something to you. I'm sorry."

Seething, he shifted to put as much of his back to her as possible, which wasn't much given his condition. "_Lat ûs bugud-izub kulat lorz. Tramub-izg lab pu ghru-izub-sha. Honub-izgu mirz hokarlub za-la_," he grumbled. [Translation: You think my name is stupid. I will rape your mouth with my cock. We will see who is laughing after that.]

"Well, one, I don't think your name is stupid," she replied mildly. He glanced over his shoulder to see her leaning back on her arms, regarding him with amusement. "Two, I bite. So while you're screaming in pain, I'll definitely be the one laughing."

Ghrudur's eyes narrowed at her. As if to illustrate, she opened her mouth and slammed her teeth together with an audible clack. He experienced a tremor of discomfort at the thought of those teeth...

"Okay, it seems to me that we're getting a little off topic here," she said briskly, leaning forward. "I believe the original plan was to get plowed. Here," she said, topping off his cup once more with the foul spirits and tipping it into his mouth. "Drink up. You've got a ways to go to catch up with me."

She urged him to swallow two cupfuls before continuing the conversation. He was definitely starting to feel the affects now.

"So tell me about yourself, Ghru," she said casually. "You're a smith, and you forged weapons. What was your specialty?"

"Don't know," he replied, once more letting his head rest on the linens and closing his eyes.

"Come on. There must have been one type of weapon you liked to make more than any others," she pressed.

He shrugged slightly, feeling only a twinge of pain struggle up through the haze to register. "_Thauk_." [Translation: dagger]

"Mmmm," she said, leaning back to lie alongside his pallet, ankles crossed and an arm curled under her head. "How about short swords? _Shapat_. That's my weapon of choice. Ever make those?"

He only grunted quietly in the affirmative. "Horny," he suddenly said, his voice thick and deep.

Lynn chuckled. "I'm not that drunk yet, dude."

"No. What horny?"

"Oh, what does the word mean?" He nodded. She took an awkward, lying down sip from her cup and paused thoughtfully. "All right. It means you want to fuck. _Really_ badly. Like, you'll fuck anything that moves, you want to so much."

"Fight make you want fuck?"

"Uh-huh. How about you?"

"Yes."

"See?" she said with a sloppy grin. "We're not so different, you and I."

He grimaced. "You walk."

"So will you," Lynn replied.

"You...you kill orcs," he accused.

"So would you, if you had a good enough reason." She turned her head to look at him. "I'll bet if we hadn't killed that bunch for you, you would have done it." Returning her gaze to the roof of the tent, she countered, "And anyway, you kill humans. So there."

"You hate orcs."

"Please," she said witheringly. "If I hated orcs, do you think you'd be talking to me right now? Don't you think I would have buried a blade in your back while you were out cold on the ground? There were plenty of men in our group who would have done that if I hadn't stopped them."

Sitting up once more, she filled her cup. "No, I've never hated orcs. Felt sorry for them, sure. Never hated them."

"Why sorry?" He raised his head to look at her again, brow furrowed.

"Because it sucks to be you," she said. "Okay, maybe not _you_ specifically, as in the Isengarders, though you have to admit, it's still pretty sucky being Saruman's toy. I mean the orcs out in Mordor and the Misty Mountains. Those guys." She took a long drink and topped off the cup again. "They're minding their own business, running their little communities without a care in the world, when all of a sudden along comes Sauron to totally fuck everything up for them. He says 'Get your ass to Mordor, build me a tower, stand in front of that whopping great load of men, and try not to bleed on my carpets.' They're scared shitless of him, so they'll do anything he says."

Sipping thoughtfully, she continued, "Then there's you lot, custom built to spec, you don't have any idea what the hell to do with yourselves when Saruman gets the finger, you can barely survive on your own...Sad, really. I mean, honestly, what did that crazy old coot give you besides hate? Hate don't put meat on the table, man."

He wished he could snarl a retort back at her, tell her all the benefits of life in Isengard...except he couldn't for the life of him think of a single one. When it came right down to it, Saruman had given them nothing, as she said. Scowling, he turned away.

"And don't get me started on how _we_ treat you lot," she finished.

They sat quietly for several minutes, then the silence was broken by the arrival of Captain Delon, barging into the tent without so much as a courteous announcement.

* * *

><p>1 Reference to Dothraki people, Song of Ice and Fire by George R. R. Martin<p> 


	4. A Knife with a Story

**Chapter 4: A Knife with a Story**

"Has he talked yet?" Captain Delon barked as soon as his eyes settled on her. A look of disgust contorted his face. "I hope I haven't interrupted anything...important."

Though Ghru was startled by the man's sudden intrusion, Lynn appeared completely unaffected. She tipped another cupful back and turned to regard him coolly. "No worries, Delon. We were just swapping war stories. Ghru here used to skin Gondoran children alive and make wallets out of them."

The Captain's face paled with shock and he staggered back a step or two. Ghru, on the other hand, found her inventive lie, and especially the man's reaction, extremely amusing. Tipsy from the alcohol, he laughed heartily a couple of times before rib pain sneaked through the fuzz in his brain and shut him down with a groan.

Delon narrowed his eyes at the woman. "You aren't serious."

Now she allowed laughter to escape, peals of it bubbling out of her. Rolling on the floor of the tent, tears streaming from her eyes, she struggled to sit up straight. More than once, she bumped shoulders with the orc, nearly tipping him over as well.

"Of course I'm not serious," she tittered when some measure of control returned to her. "He was a weaponsmith. He wasn't at the Hornburg, never been to Gondor, until now, of course. He was one of the few who escaped the flooding of Isengard."

"You're drunk," Delon observed, his composure regained enough to be haughty.

"Yes, I am drunk," Lynn replied. She raised her cup in a mocking toast. "Here's to Captain Delon, may he never fail to find his ass with both hands."

Again, Ghru laughed painfully. The Captain shot him a hateful look. "Very amusing, Lynn. I have some questions for you, orc. And you'd better answer truthfully, or you'll wish you were back in the hands of your fellows."

Ghrudur sobered, curling his lip to bare his teeth. An angry growl rumbled in his chest.

"Delon," Lynn warned. Though she looked down into the cup in her hands, there was no mistaking the threat in her voice. "You touch him, and you'll have me to answer to."

The man sneered. "Taken a fancy to him, have you? Should I post a guard inside the tent for his protection?"

Like a snake striking, the woman launched herself off the floor and twisted. Her forearm slammed into the Captain's windpipe with such force it nearly collapsed as she bore him backwards. Enraged, she pushed his startled form out the tent opening and knocked him sprawling onto the ground. Then she was on top of him, pummeling his face with both fists until men hauled her off him.

When he stood up, Lynn used the men's grip on her arms as leverage to shoot a foot out and catch Delon in the groin. The Captain doubled over with a groan and slumped to the ground once more.

"Get her out of here!" he croaked, and the men threw her back into her tent. No longer in need of a defensive stance, she tumbled awkwardly to land face down on the floor.

Ghru refused to look at her. Through the entire episode, he struggled with that strange feeling, trying to identify it, yet loathe to unmask it at the same time. By word and deed, the woman defended him, at cost to herself. Would he have done the same? Not likely. For some reason, the thought shamed him.

"I think," she groaned, "I'll stay here." She raised her arm only enough to jab a finger at the floor.

"Woman," Ghrudur growled. A note of urgency was in his voice. Lynn cracked an eye open to look at him. "Piss," he elaborated through gritted teeth.

Sighing deeply, she heaved herself to her feet and stumbled over to the corner to fetch a battered wooden bucket. Dropping to her knees next to him, she whipped the blanket back, shoved his good leg aside, and wedged the bucket between his thighs. Without so much as a grimace of disgust or any visible change to her expression, she lifted his penis into the bucket and sat back on her heels, one hand on the wood to hold it steady.

When nothing happened for several seconds, she looked at him with a frown. "I thought you had to go."

"Can't," he snarled, glaring at her. Her eyebrows rose with surprise.

"What, all of a sudden, you're modest? When did that start?" Shaking her head, she said, "Look, I've seen you. I had to wash you, remember? You aren't that different from men." Shrugging, she turned away. "I won't look if that'll help."

"Not that," he snarled. "Can't. Too hard."

She ducked her chin and snickered. "Well, what brought that on? Seeing me get thrown across the room?"

He shook his head, looking anywhere but at her amused face. "You touch me. Hard now."

"What, still?" she asked, incredulous. "The ear thing?"

"No," he snapped. "You touch me now."

"Well, what did you expect me to do? Use my Jedi mind trick to float your dick into the bucket?" Rolling her eyes at his annoyed look, she said, "Man, you've got a hair trigger. No wonder orcs breed like rabbits."

"Not Uruk-hai," he said hollowly, falling back and staring at the roof of the tent. It seemed the safest place to look.

"Why not?" she asked curiously.

Cracking an eye open to glare at her, he snarled, "No female Uruk-hai. No breed. No...rabbit."

"Well, relax, if you can," she said soothingly. "Forget I'm here. Think about...waterfalls and rain." When he cocked an eyebrow at her, she smiled. "Trust me."

The woman's advice worked. He watched her back as she took the bucket outside to empty it. He sighed with relief, not only in releasing the pressure, but in not being forced to soil his bedding from neglect, as had occurred so often with the orcs he'd almost gotten used to it. Whenever he could find the strength, he'd at least try to void his bowels to the side, but he didn't often have that luxury. Then, a few weeks ago, he'd stopped caring. He'd stopped fighting, too, not that he had much to fight with anymore. At that point, he knew he was willing to die. Desperate to die, in fact.

Her return broke his thoughts. She had another plateful of food, which she set down on the floor. This time, she shared it with him.

"Delon's pissed," she commented. "You'd think I'd never sent his balls into his chest cavity before. Sheesh, guys can be so sensitive."

Ghrudur choked on the meat he was chewing and stared at her.

"Take it easy there, big guy," she said, a half smile on her face as he recovered himself.

"You kick balls?" he asked, incredulous.

"Sure did," she crowed proudly. "The douche had it coming. You heard what he said."

A scowl shadowed the orc's face. "Don't know."

"You didn't hear him, or didn't understand what he was saying?"

"Understand," he replied. It had always been a hard word for him to remember, though he knew what it meant.

"Well," she said, popping a bit of bread into her mouth and chewing unconcernedly. "He implied that you're not safe in here with me. That I might take advantage of you."

He shook his head, still not fully comprehending.

She grinned. "You know. Try to fuck you, since you can't defend yourself."

His eyes flared open. Her laughter at his expression almost didn't register. The idea of a human woman taking him by force had never occurred to him. Now, however, the intriguing novelty was thrust into his mind and he couldn't dislodge it. Somehow, it both excited him and made him extremely uncomfortable.

"Of course, he wasn't serious," she went on. "He's not really worried about that. He's just being a dick. Trying to get me riled up." She shrugged absently. "Maybe while he's trying to dig his testicles out of his throat, he'll realize that's not a road he wants to go down."

Suddenly, she got up and went back to her pack. He thought she was getting another flask of the alcohol to have with their dinner, but she returned with a sheathed knife the length of her forearm.

"This might interest you," she said, holding it up. Again, his eyes widened as he recognized the brutal lines of an orcish dagger. She unsheathed it and turned it over and over in her hands, holding it gingerly as if it could harm her on its own. "I didn't murder anyone to get it, so don't get your panties in a wad," she said, misreading his intent stare. "Hell of a story to this..."

"Show me," he suddenly barked, eyes glued to the hauntingly familiar weapon, flicking hungrily from hilt to tip, searching. She held it closer to his face and slowly turned it over a few times. There...yes, there it was. In the shadow cast by the hand guard, where no one would see it if they didn't already know it was there. Three small pin-prick sized indentations in a triangular arrangement. He never put it in the same place twice, in case someone figured out what it was, or what it meant.

"My mark," he said proudly, glancing up at her. "Make _thauk_." Now his eyes passed more slowly over the blade, drinking in the lines, the shape he had spent so much time on for a particular orc who demanded something unique, not like what was made as if from a mold for everyone else. His brow furrowed, and he suddenly glared at her. "For Mauhur. Where Mauhur? How you get _thauk_?"

Lynn lowered the blade and held it in her lap. "Mauhur is dead. I took it off his body." Her voice was low, flat. "He threatened me with it several times, even cut me once." She tipped her head back and pointed to a tiny white scar at the base of her throat. "After they were all killed, I searched for hours through their mutilated, stinking bodies until I found his, and I took it. I didn't want to forget."

"Forget what?" Ghrudur asked, surprised to hear his own voice so quiet, as if this were not a story for loud talking.

Drawing a shuddering breath, she said, "You probably knew about Saruman wanting to capture halflings. Well, the group I was with had them, so we got attacked. But when they took our friends, they took me too."

It seemed that, before his eyes, she shrunk, pulling into herself as she recalled her capture. A rush of images ran through his mind, things other orcs had described in lurid detail when returning from a raid or waiting for him to repair their gear. Things he had done himself. "The leader was a guy named Ugluk. Man, his breath stunk. And he was always right in my face. He told me I'd be 'useful' to Saruman. A nice addition to the stable of breeding wenches, I believe he called it. Apparently, he wasn't counted among those who got to...partake, so he didn't do anything to me."

Ghrudur was transfixed. He remembered Ugluk, and how angry Saruman was when he found out the company under the orc's command had not returned. Though he never counted a single orc as a friend, he couldn't help feeling a desperate need to hear some news of their fate. And hers.

"At some point, we picked up a few companies of horsemen from Rohan," she continued. "I won't go into the details. Running flat out across the plains for three days is nobody's idea of a thrilling adventure story. When we got to Fangorn, they had to stop and make a stand against the riders, but the horsemen didn't attack right away, and I couldn't figure out why Ugluk didn't take everyone into the forest. I mean, the trees were thick; the riders would have had to dismount. Well, I learned why pretty quickly, because Mauhur brought his company in to reinforce Ugluk." A shudder went through her. "Mauhur, apparently, ranked higher in some ways than Ugluk, and he decided I was exactly his type, I guess. He, uh, staked his claim early to beat the rush."

"What he do?" Ghrudur murmured, though he could guess fairly well.

"This," she said, and lifted the long hair from her shoulders, turning her head far to the side to show the scars near the back of her neck. They were unmistakably teeth marks, brutally applied. Ghrudur felt a strong tremor of arousal flow through him at the sight of another orc's mark. Another orc who was now dead and posed no threat...

Shoving the traitorous thought away, he croaked, "Why keep _thauk_?"

She let her hair fall once more, hiding the scars. "I wanted to remember. Up to that point, everything seemed like an endless party, you know? I knew everything before it happened, so nothing was surprising. Then I got pulled into the story, and it wasn't fun anymore, it wasn't something I was watching happening to other people. All of a sudden, I realized I could very well die. Failing that, something really terrible could happen just because I was there. Like, Sauron could win. And I could spend the rest of my days pumping out half-orc babies in a dungeon under Orthanc." Another shudder shook her. Sheathing the dagger, she looked hard at it. "I hate this thing. I wish I hadn't taken it, but I couldn't leave it there. Sometimes you have to do something you don't want to so you'll remember."

Raising her eyes to meet his, she looked at him thoughtfully. "Tell you what. When you're healed up, I'll give it to you. Think of it as an incentive to be a good little orc and mind your manners, eh?"

Ghrudur snorted. "Not good, not little. No manners."

"No shit," she said with a grin. "Humor me and pretend, okay? Delon gets wind of you being naughty, and he'll make your bad day even worse."

"What can do?" he growled, looking at his useless body with a grimace. "Broken. Can't move. Can't walk. Can't, can't, can't." He shook his head from side to side, furious in his helplessness.

"Listen to me," she said firmly, cupping his face in her hands and forcing him to look at her. "You are an Uruk. You're strong, you'll mend. You'll be back to your old insufferable self in no time." Sighing, she closed her eyes for a moment. "I'll do everything I can to heal your injuries, Ghru. But you have to _want_ to get better. These breaks will keep you down for a long time. I have no idea how long you were down before, either. You'll have a fight on your hands, reminding your body how to work the way it did before. Then, there's the other part that won't be so easy."

Taking a deep shuddering breath, she touched her forehead to his for a moment. She was clearly not happy about what she was going to say, yet pressed on regardless. "You've been raped, Ghru. You need to face that. It happened. You can't make it un-happen, you can't deny it happened, you can't ignore it or pretend it isn't there. No, listen to me," she scolded when he tried to look away. "If you don't deal with it now, it'll come back to haunt you. You'll be carrying on with your life when something – a smell, a word, a touch – will set you off, bring it all roaring back, and it'll cripple you. Do you want that? Because I guarantee, if whatever they did to get the drop on you happens again with another group of orcs, you won't want to be paralyzed by your fears."

Finally releasing him, she retreated and stood. "I think sleeping this off is a good idea. I'm destined for a hell of a hangover from that putrid crap I bought in the second tier. I don't think the orcs did a good enough job wrecking the place, if those bastards could still brew this swill. I'll have to complain to their management." Snapping her fingers, she said, "Dammit, Sauron got fired. I guess I'll have to just get over it, huh?" She regarded his stony expression for several seconds before dropping to a crouch next to him. His eyes flicked toward her, but he remained otherwise immovable.

"Do you want to lie flat, or stay as you are?" she asked softly.

"Stay," he snarled through clenched teeth. He didn't want her fussing over him or touching him right now. Though he was aware of her movements as she circled the suddenly very small area within the tent, extinguishing lamps, he refused to look at her. He sat rigidly, keeping his mind blank, tamping down on any stray thought that tried to surface. They were traitors, trying to be reasonable, rational, logical. Urging him to listen to her, for she was wise and kind. How anyone could be kind and not weak, which she clearly wasn't, baffled him.

The sound of fabric rustling grabbed his attention, focusing his sharp hearing. Turning his head slightly, he caught a flash of bare white skin out of the corner of his eye, but before he could whip his head around, the long sleeping garment had fallen down over her body to conceal it. Though the lamps were dark, the tent was not completely enveloped in shadows, for a low-burning bonfire several yards away in the camp shown dimly through the canvas. He was not cheated of a peek, however, for she hiked up the gown and peeled off her leggings, revealing bare buttocks and legs for an all-too brief moment before they, too, were hidden.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Ghrudur sank back into the linens, willing his aching loins to give it up. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

><p><em>The orc was running, his heart pounding desperately loudly in his chest. Even if he managed to shake his pursuers, they would surely hear the sound and find him again.<em>

_Shadows loomed all around him, coalescing into six hunched, deformed figures with many limbs. They surrounded him, faces split by leering mouths from which long, snake-like tongues lolled lasciviously. He froze, eyes wide enough to show the whites, like a panicked beast, eyes flicking from one cruel face to the next. They closed in, reaching for him, laughing..._

Somewhere, the feral cry of a wounded animal wrenched him from the nightmare. The pain-filled roar continued, and he was in the dark, couldn't see where he was, only knew that if that damn noise didn't stop, they'd think it was him and come put a stop to it. A light flared somewhere behind him, he saw tent walls in the glow. He tried to get away, they hadn't tied him for once, if he could move, he could finally escape, but his arms hurt so badly, and they didn't want to bend for some reason, and his leg, it wouldn't move, they were coming, he could hear them, they'd be angry, it would hurt, hurt so much...

A sharp pain on his cheek broke through, and he blinked. A pale face swam into focus, brow creased with worry. All was quiet now, and he suddenly knew where he was. Who _she_ was.

"Ghru," she breathed, stroking his face, calming him. He held her eyes with his, slowly becoming aware of himself again. He was breathing fast and heavy, as if he truly had been running. His chest felt constricted, tightened around a ball, and his stomach was also clenched. He opened his mouth, and his body convulsed. He choked and coughed in short bursts. Confusion and fear gripped him as his throat closed and he gagged. The woman's face that had been so clear moments ago, suddenly blurred. Still, the strange sensations assaulted him, seeming to rise up from somewhere in his stomach as if trying to get out through his mouth.

"What...happening," he grunted, barely able to get the words out as he fought against the tide of whatever was going on inside him. Lynn looked just as alarmed as he felt, then her brow smoothed suddenly, and she pulled him against her body, pushing his chin down on her shoulder. He felt her arms encircle him.

"Let it go, Ghru," she urged, rubbing his back with one hand and stroking his too-short hair with the other. "Don't fight it, just let it out."

Let it out? Let what out? If it was this horrible feeling clawing at his gut, his chest, his throat, he didn't want any part of it. Yet it persisted, getting stronger and harder to deny the longer he pushed it back.

"Come on," she murmured, rocking him. "You need this. Let it come."

No matter what was going through his mind, his body apparently decided her advice was sound. With a shuddering howl, his body tensed violently and wave upon wave broke through. His face was suddenly wet, his eyes stung like hot pokers had been shoved into them, his sore ribcage contracted and expanded rapidly as he hyperventilated. He didn't understand what was happening to him, and he hated every second of it.

"What's happening here?" a man's voice, Marik's, said. He felt the woman's head turn toward the voice.

"Get out, now!" she yelled. "Everything's fine. Just get out. Nobody comes in here until I call, is that clear?"

Ghrudur didn't hear Marik's reply, but the man did as he was told. The intrusion seemed to break whatever curse had afflicted him, for he began to truly calm down, taking deep, shuddering breaths, and becoming aware of other things.

Lynn was holding his body against hers, stroking his back and head, swaying gently, murmuring comforting nonsense into his ear. What must have been the swell of her breasts pressed against his chest. He sometimes felt her lips brush the sensitive ridge of his ear, and a ripple of longing flowed through him. But it only warmed him; he didn't feel as overwhelmed as before.

"What happen?" he repeated, his voice shaky and weak.

"You wept," she replied gently. "You seem to be experiencing all sorts of new things here in my tent." Drawing back from him, she looked him over, taking in the dwindling fear in his eyes. "You had a nightmare. You bellowed loud enough to wake the dead."

Swallowing hard, he said, "Me?" She nodded, gently brushing his damp cheeks with a thumb.

"I wish I could take away the pain I see in you. I don't care what you are, what anyone else sees. I see Ghru."

His own face twitched uncertainly, wondering if she meant him, or something else entirely. Her eyes were only half open; she seemed to be looking at him through her eyelashes. And she was getting closer. "I must be completely shit-faced," she murmured, so close he could feel her breath on his face. "Or out of my mind."

He felt the feather-light press of her lips. All he had done to calm his rapid breathing before was thrown out the window as his body reacted. It was so innocent and meaningless, the touch of lips to lips, yet it sent a torrent of heat through his body that was almost a physical thing. And he wanted it again.

As he leaned forward to capture her mouth once more, she recoiled, backing away.

"That," she said, folding her arms over her breasts protectively, "was too real. I'm going to bed. Way over there. Go back to sleep, Ghru." She turned away, extinguished the lamp once more, and buried herself in a pile of blankets.


	5. Love What You Do

**Chapter 5: Love What You Do**

The sun was just cresting the horizon as Lynn forced her bleary eyes to focus down the arrow's shaft toward the target thirty yards away. The point wavered off to the right frequently. She shook her head to clear the cobwebs.

As soon as that sun came up, she knew it would pierce her skull with its intensity, driving what was currently a mild headache into a screaming migraine. She'd rarely drunk enough to be hung over the next day, and after greeting the morning with a stomach-emptying, back-straining technicolor yawn, Lynn vowed she'd never drink that much again.

Unfortunately, she wasn't hung over enough to forget that she kissed the orc.

_...unsure yet yielding...unexpected heat...rippling sensation between her legs..._

Her fingers slipped off the bowstring, sending the arrow clumsily forth. It went wide, missing the target entirely. Sighing, she reached for another.

"Nicely done," Delon said as he approached. He seemed to be walking especially loudly this morning.

"I'm not in the mood," she growled, wincing even at the sound of her own voice.

"I'm not surprised," he smirked. "What was that shit you drank? You smelled like a dwarven tavern."

"It was probably brewed by dwarves," she conceded. "Very cruel dwarves without the first clue how to make alcohol."

"I'm surprised you're not cozying up to your pet this morning," he remarked casually. She threw him a hateful look. Her next shot barely hit the outside of the target, deflecting away to stick in the ground. "You're definitely off your game."

"Don't," she warned, jerkily reloading.

"What was wrong with the beast last night? Did he catch you climbing all over him?"

Lynn gritted her teeth, willing herself not to rise to the bait. "His name is Ghrudur, and he had a nightmare."

Delon grunted with amusement. "Can't imagine what would scare an orc."

"Just look at him," she said wearily. This time, the arrow at least stayed in the target, though her bleary eyes and trembling hands still couldn't seat it in the center. "You'd have nightmares too."

"Yes, if I were as repulsive as he, I would."

"You know what I mean, asshole."

"A messenger arrived this morning," he said conversationally. "Lord Elrohir will be here by nightfall."

"Fantastic," she snarled, once again sending an arrow wildly into oblivion.

"He won't suffer the beast to live, you know," the Captain said pointedly.

"He'll have a fight on his hands if he wishes Ghrudur ill," Lynn said.

Delon threw back his head, laughing loudly in the still air. Lynn dropped the bow and grabbed her head, covering her ears and wincing. "Not so fucking loud!"

"I'm just imagining you trying to convince Elrohir that the same kind of beast that nearly destroyed his mother should be allowed to draw breath on this earth."

Without a word, she grabbed her bow and stomped away, trying to ignore the cruel laughter of the Captain.

* * *

><p>There were hands on him. Ghrudur could sleep through a lot of things, but he would never rest while being touched again. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he raised his arm and jerked it away from the offending fingers.<p>

"Calm down, you dumb beast," a male voice scolded. "I'm just looking at your hand."

Opening his eyes was like prying ore from the earth. The dim light of early morning assaulted his eyes and he squeezed them shut again, wincing.

"Whatever you two drank last night, you'll both be sorry about it today."

Marik. The voice belonged to the healer. At least it wasn't the Captain. He allowed himself to settle a little. The man was only unwrapping the bandages encasing his hand. He wasn't touching anything else.

When his right hand was exposed, Ghrudur forced himself to look at it. There were splints keeping all four fingers rigid. Only his thumb was free.

"Can you move them?" Marik asked.

The orc tried. He could see his clawed fingertips twitch, but otherwise there was no response. His thumb seemed to move normally, but that wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. Anger and despair quickened his breathing as he stared at his useless hand.

"Relax," the healer said. "I didn't think you'd be able to do that much. That's actually good. You'll be able to hold a sword in no time."

"No sword!" the orc roared suddenly. "Hammer! Hold _hammer_!"

Startled, Marik retreated a little. "Oh, that's right. Lynn said you were a smith." At the sound of her name, the orc seemed to calm slightly. "A hammer, then."

"Where Lynn?"

"Trying to kill everything but the archery targets, last I checked," the healer said as he rewrapped the orc's hand. "I'll have to advise her against drinking before a battle, if her aim's going to be _that_ bad the next day."

"Who...El...Elro...," Ghrudur asked hesitantly, trying to remember the difficult elven name he'd heard the day before.

"Elrohir," Marik supplied. "He's one of Elrond Halfelven's sons. Evidently, he's due here sometime around supper."

"He...hate orcs?"

"With a violent passion." The healer probed the orc's upper arm, checking the progress of the bone's healing. "He'll probably want to kill you in at least a dozen messy ways when he arrives."

"Why heal?" Ghrudur snarled bitterly. "Kill orcs, what _golug-hai_ do." [Translation: Elven people]

"Well," Marik said, switching to the other arm, "I've known Lynn for six or seven months. Long enough to know she doesn't back down when she sets her sights on something. Right now, she seems to think you're worth saving, for whatever reason. If she has to fight Elrohir to the death over you, she will." He smirked. "But I think she'll just blister his ears with a tirade of coarse language."

"She fight." Ghrudur frowned. "Why?"

"Hell if I know. The Valar know you don't deserve it. I don't care if you spent all your time in the bowels of Isengard forging weapons, you aided the war effort, so that makes you an enemy in my book. You're an orc besides, which is enough of a reason to kill you in any case." Shrugging, he moved to the orc's thigh. Ghrudur stiffened instinctively as the healer pulled the blanket back from his leg. "Look," he said impatiently, glaring at the orc, "I'm not going to molest you. I'm just checking your progress. We don't do those sorts of things to our prisoners."

Ghrudur froze, a mixture of shame and confusion on his face. Marik rolled his eyes.

"I'm not blind," he said, aggravated. "I've seen it before, on men and women captured by orcs. For some reason, _your_ kind like to do that."

"Don't be such a prude, Marik," Lynn's voice interrupted as she entered the tent, tossing her bow across the room. "The whores of Minas Tirith told me many colorful stories about what sordid pleasures they have to provide."

"Do I dare ask what you were doing in the brothels?" he said wearily. He didn't miss the sudden alertness in the orc's expression as he watched the woman tugging her leather gloves off and flinging them onto the pile of her armor.

"Got bored," she snapped. "Nobody was around to chat with about stuff that interests me."

"The business of whores is a topic of interest for you? Why does this not surprise me?" The healer continued to watch the orc's face out of the corner of his eye, curious about the creature's strange interest.

"Believe it or not, they have a lot more to talk about than what they do for a living." Smirking, she headed for the exit. "I'm grabbing breakfast. Should I bring enough for you, or are you dining elsewhere?"

"I've already eaten," Marik replied. "Unlike some people, I wake early without the desire to rip people's heads off."

"Bite me," she retorted, then left.

Chuckling, Marik returned to the orc's leg.

"She is...whore?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Marik replied. "Many would probably say as much about her, and she'd beat them to a pulp for suggesting it. She's certainly...more free about such things than a decent woman ought to be. At least, she talks about it more readily, though I've never known her to actually _do_ anything about it. But I suppose where she comes from, women are more...aggressive."

"Where she come from?"

"You're full of questions, orc," Marik chided. "All right, since she apparently didn't tell you. It's not a secret, after all. Lynn is from some ridiculously distant future. She came here almost two years ago, I think, through some magic."

Ghrudur frowned. Her words suddenly came back to him. _I knew everything before it happened..._

"Rumors abound that we owe the Lord Boromir's life to her foresight," Marik continued. "Though to see them together... Well, if you thought she didn't get along with Captain Delon, they are practically lovestruck by comparison."

Replacing the blanket over him, Marik regarded the orc sternly. "I can see what is going through your mind, orc. She is not for you."

Ghrudur glowered angrily at the healer. "Don't want her," he snapped.

"Bullshit," the man said softly. "If you weren't an orc, I'd swear you were falling for her. We both know your kind aren't capable of anything but violence and hate. And we both know if you could move, you'd attack her, no matter what kindness she has shown you. Let me give you a piece of advice: kill it. Kill those thoughts going through your mind. You're a filthy beast. I don't know what the hell she's thinking, showing something like you mercy, but I know you'll make her regret not gutting you when she had the chance. And don't think for a moment she wouldn't do it, either. I've seen her up to her shoulders in orc guts before."

"Breakfast," Lynn said as she backed into the tent carrying a laden tray. "Ah," she said when she turned and saw Marik. "Still here? You two getting along, then?"

"I was just leaving," Marik said as he rose and stretched. "He's healing faster than I thought he would. I suppose it just might be true, that orcs have elven blood. I would say it'll take about half the time a man would require to get back to normal."

"That's good," she replied, setting the tray down next to the furious orc. "Oh, and I wouldn't make the 'elven blood' comment again. You just thoroughly pissed him off, and I suspect Elrohir will be just as offended."

"Truth is truth," he said wryly, taking his leave.

"Don't take it so hard," Lynn said, settling down in her customary spot and beginning to cut the food into small chunks. "Some of my best friends are elves." A grin tugged at her mouth, seeing his indignation.

She fed him in silence. His mind was in turmoil, once he pushed aside the irritation at being in any way compared to _golug-hai_. What could he give her but pain, as the healer said? Wanting to do otherwise and accomplishing it were two different things. He lacked the confidence that he could overcome his nature.

He owed her his life. Even if it would end by nightfall when the elf lord arrived, his last hours had been... pleasant.

_...press of lips...flash of bare flesh..._

Relatively pain free, comfortable, warm...safe. He'd forgotten what that felt like. Had it been almost a year since the valley flooded? Under normal circumstances, a year wasn't enough for him to forget anything. The last few months had destroyed more than his recollections of safety, however.

"You're thinking hard about something, Ghru," Lynn said gently. "I've tried to give you food three times and you haven't taken it. Something on your mind?"

Ghrudur wasn't one to mince words. "Want you. Can't have you." He shrugged. "Man say, hurt you. Don't want hurt you."

She bowed her head, chuckling quietly. "That was pretty forthright. You don't hold back much, do you?" Looking up, she smiled slightly. "It's kind of weird, Marik lecturing you like he's my big brother or something. I wasn't under the impression he cared so much about my welfare." Lynn picked at the bread in her hand, watching her fingers shred it. "I'm quite capable of taking care of myself. I have no... illusions that you're some kind of prince in disguise or anything. You're an orc. If I learned anything this year, it's that orcs are...different. Like wild animals, some of them." Glancing up at him, she grinned. "Keep in mind that humans are animals, too. You're just a wilder bunch."

"Don't want hurt you," he repeated insistently. She glanced up and nodded.

"I'm sure you don't," she replied. "And trust me, I'm glad. I don't want to _be_ hurt. I don't want to hurt you, either."

He snorted. "Can't hurt me."

"Can't I?" she said with amusement. "You've still got some soft bits that haven't been broken yet."

Grunting a short laugh, he accepted the meat she held to his mouth, letting his teeth graze her fingertips briefly, his eyes holding hers. He was gratified by the little shiver his nip caused. For a moment, her brow twitched slightly, unsure of him. Subtlety, after all, was not a trait known to be possessed by his kind.

"You see whores," he said quietly. "Learn?"

She laughed. "A few things, yes. Amazing how universal some things are. I had no idea what a roaring trade in body oils there is in a city like Minas Tirith, either." Smirking, she added, "Of course, if your client wants to play 'The Orc and the Maiden,' you're gonna need a hell of a lot of lubrication." Shrugging, she popped a bit of fruit in her mouth. "Not _really_ surprising, I suppose. Everyone's got their kinky side, don't they? Ain't nothin' kinkier than an orc. Or so I've heard." She winked and grinned at him.

When all he could give her in response was a stunned look, she shrugged again and went on. "I've always said, do what you love, love what you do. If you can't get an ounce of pleasure out of it, you're either doing it wrong, or you're in the wrong business." Pointing at him, she said, "Take you, for instance. When you saw that knife, you looked ready to melt. You miss the forge, don't you?"

Startled by the unexpected turn of the conversation, he could only nod weakly. Listening to her was never boring, but it was often difficult to keep up with the twists and turns.

Sighing, she slipped another piece of food into his mouth. He was so focused on her he didn't know what it was, nor did he much care.

"I wish you could go back to that," she said regretfully. "It's so damned unfair. You're not a bad sort. You could probably get along okay with humans as long as they didn't mess with you too much. That's the real trick, you know. I'm less worried about you flipping out than them. Us," she amended with a smirk.

"Don't want talk about forge," he snarled, looking away. "Talk about whores."

Again, she laughed. "Just like a man. Okay, I'll tell you about the whores of Minas Tirith."

"You insult."

"By comparing you to a man?" she asked, arching her brow. "Gracious me, aren't _you_ sensitive all of a sudden?" She giggled at his thunderous expression. "What should I call you, then? 'Male orc'? 'Uruk-boy'?" He tried to look away, but she kept twisting around, sticking her face in front of him, forcing him to look at her. She was almost in his lap. "How about _dâgalûr-izub brîz_?" [Translation: my horny demon]

Ghrudur darted forward, slamming his mouth inexpertly against hers. If she was going to taunt him, he'd teach her a lesson. She jerked backwards, a stunned expression on her face. He smirked. Too quickly, the lines of her face smoothed over, and she shook her head, tsking at him.

"Utterly clueless, aren't you?" she murmured.

"Teach me," he challenged.

"None of your sass, now," she admonished playfully. "Eat." Lynn pushed a morsel of meat into his mouth. Again, he sought to nip her fingers, but she denied him, a grin on her face.

"Whores," he reminded her as he chewed.

"Right. Whores."


	6. Meeting Old Friends, Part 1

**Chapter 6: Meeting Old Friends, Part 1**

Lynn stood like a defiant statue outside her tent, arms crossed over her mailed chest, booted feet set apart. The expression on her face was fierce. Her twin short swords were loose in the scabbards at her hips.

Even if Elrohir didn't remember this woman from the assault on the Black Gate almost a year ago, he would still approach her with caution.

"You greet me arrayed for battle," he commented. "Were we not comrades in arms not so long ago?"

"Forgive her, Lord Elrohir," the Captain said stiffly behind him. "She has some deluded notion of charity that is grievously misplaced."

"Do not even start with me, Delon," she snarled, flicking a brief, disgusted look at the officer. "Lord Elrohir, I trust your journey was uneventful?"

The elf raised an eyebrow at the unexpected courtesy. "As free of mishap as can be expected in these difficult times." Sighing wearily, Elrohir said, "I understand you have a...former resident of Isengard in your charge."

"Save it," she snapped. "Don't toy with me. This worthless pig sent for you just because I'm a pain in his ass."

"Which you have been ever since you set foot in Minas Tirith!" Delon barked.

"Through no fault of my own! You weren't exactly a 'gracious host'!" she retorted sarcastically.

"As I recall, you belittled his...prowess... in front of his men simply because he forbade you from accompanying the soldiers into battle," Elrohir cut in reasonably.

"And if _my_ memory serves, I saved his ass _twice_ on the field. Once standing between him and a fucking _nazgul_." Returning her glare to the furious Captain, she hissed, "Which I would not have been able to do if I'd obeyed his asinine command!"

"It was not an asinine command!" Delon barked.

"Please!" Elrohir shouted, stepping between the two before a full-blown war engaged. "I did not come here to tear open old wounds!"

"Then keep your god damned hands off my orc!"

The camp, previously so busy with men scurrying around to see to the elf lord's mount and lodging, suddenly went silent and still. Elrohir and Delon were treated to the rare vision of Lynn with her hands clapped over her own mouth, eyes wide in shock at something _she_ said for once.

"I believe," Elrohir said coolly, "we should discuss this matter in private. If you would be so kind, Captain?"

Recovering some semblance of his dignity, Delon led the way to the command tent.

Lynn slumped sullenly in the camp chair, arms still presenting a belligerent barrier across her chest. Rather than sit behind the table to glare at her, the elf lord chose to lean against it on her side. He, too, crossed his arms, nearly in a mocking gesture.

"Delon tells me you have kept the orc in your tent. Is this true?"

She nodded curtly.

"Very inappropriate, don't you think? For a maid...?"

Lynn slowly raised her eyes to glare through her bangs. "Two things, _elf_. One – I am not a maid. Two – he is trussed up with more broken bones than you can fathom. My 'virtue' is in no danger."

"Still, not exactly ladylike behavior."

"Now you are baiting me," she snarled, teeth clenched.

"Not at all," Elrohir replied. "Your words trouble me, Lynn. As you have cared for this orc, have you begun to feel something for him?"

_...flutter in the gut...harsh face softened by a grin..._

"Getting right to the point, eh?"

"I hope I do not have to remind you of what he is..."

"I have eyes, Elrohir."

"I do not doubt you do. We sometimes see things...differently when our sympathies are stirred." He stood and began to pace. "You found him, correct?"

"I'm sure Delon briefed you thoroughly," she snapped. "There is no reason to waste my time asking for confirmation. If I find out you have your men spiriting Ghrudur away while my back is turned, you will have gained an enemy you hadn't reckoned with."

"My men are not going anywhere near...your orc, Lynn," Elrohir said softly. "Just answer my questions. Decisions must be made with clear heads. I ask only that you clear yours."

"I will if you will," she growled.

"Think you that, after centuries of seeking vengeance, I am incapable of seeing reason?" he asked mildly.

"Most assuredly, that's what I think."

"Then help me see what you see," the elf said. "You stand ready to battle me for his sake. Teach me his worth, that I may be as merciful as you."

"He was a smith in Isengard," she replied in a low voice, eyes betraying not only stubborn resolve but ... something else. "He hardly ever set foot out of the pits there, rarely away from his forge. And he has only known twenty summers. Practically an elder among the Uruk-hai, actually," she commented thoughtfully. "Regardless, he has never been to the Misty Mountains, let alone the Redhorn. So if you intend to paint him with the same brush as those who harmed your mother, your aim is wide of the mark."

"He is an orc," the elf said gently, as if he spoke to a stubborn child. "Are they not all of one mind, one purpose?"

"Are men all of one mind and one purpose?" she countered. "Can the same be also said of elves? Dwarves?"

"We are not discussing the other races. We speak of orcs."

"Perhaps we _should_ speak of them. What happened to your mother could easily have been inflicted by men. Would you make war upon all men in existence for the rest of your days? Or would you take vengeance upon those specific assailants, and _stop_?"

It was clearly a view of things the elf lord had never contemplated. He rubbed his chin and thought deeply about her questions.

Delon could hold his tongue no longer. "You _dare_ imply that such despicable acts could be committed by men..."

Lynn shot out of her chair and rounded on the officer, eyes blazing, teeth bared. "Do _not_ feign innocence on our behalf, as if men are somehow too pure of heart! What we do in wartime to our enemies is just as vile and unforgivable as anything the Dark Lord could concoct, and we do it to each other more often than any other race!" Jamming her finger into his breastbone so forcefully the man took a step back, she snarled, "I have read the histories, and they glory in the wailing of the women, both in their mourning and their shame. These are the civilized, pure-hearted _men_, who violate the enemy's women and crush the skulls of his children!"

The Captain could only stare in furious, yet shocked, silence at her outburst. No words of denial came to him, for there weren't any to be had.

"Lynn," Elrohir said gently, "Tell me of your orc."

"You want to know more about him? Fine," she growled, turning to the elf lord. "He barely survived the Ents' destruction of Isengard, _the only home he's ever known_. He wandered for months before he ran across a group of orcs from Mordor trying to survive after Sauron's fall. He thought he was safe; there were seven of them, enough to watch each other's backs. He was wrong.

"They attacked him immediately," she continued with a sigh. "He was forced to kill one of them, and that set the rest of them off even worse than before. He was weak from lack of food. They overpowered him easily."

Delon found himself staring in wonder at her. Had she wormed all these details out of the orc by simply conversing casually with him over a few drinks? It was an approach that had never occurred to the seasoned soldier, certainly not with regards to orcs.

"Why did they not slay him?" Elrohir asked quietly. "It has been my experience that they often bend their might toward acts of vengeance for a fallen member."

"They didn't treat him kindly, I assure you," Lynn said. "They bound him and beat him. It must have been a treat for them; they were shorter than me, gangling and scrawny beasts when we found them. Taking down a hulking Isengarder surely filled them with a predator's pride. They satisfied their need to cause pain and suffering through him, once they had him restrained and helpless."

"What is his present condition?" the elf lord said.

The woman listed his injuries, ticking each one off on her fingers. It took a few rounds of each hand to count them all. Out of respect for Ghru's privacy, she didn't mention the raping. There was no way she was giving Delon any more ammunition.

The elf lord sipped thoughtfully from the goblet of wine the Captain provided.


	7. Confessions of a Furious Orc

**Chapter 7: Confessions of a Furious Orc**

"Then keep your god damned hands off my orc!"

Lynn's shout not only drew the attention of the soldiers, but the orc in question. Ghrudur could hear every word through the canvas, but those had stunned him thoroughly. When the voices retreated, taking the discussion elsewhere, he fretted in the silence, ears pricked for the slightest sound of approaching feet. Surely with her removed from standing guard outside the tent, the elf would direct men to kill him.

The sound he dreaded came to his ears. Someone was coming. Sweat broke out on his forehead and upper lip. He'd not seen many battles, but those fights he _had_ been in, at least he was armed and his body whole. Helplessness was not something Saruman considered when he ordered them not to fear pain or death.

But it was only Marik, entering the tent with a tray of food. "It looks like your keeper is stuck in the command tent for the near future. Wouldn't want her pet to be neglected," the man growled as he set the platter down and sat in Lynn's place. Sighing, and casting an annoyed glance at the orc, he began to cut the meat in small pieces.

"What they talk about?"

The healer snorted with grim amusement. "You, of course. What else?"

Impatient, Ghrudur dodged the man's attempt to shove a piece of meat in his mouth. "What they talk about me?"

"I have no idea," Marik snapped. "I'm not there, am I? I suspect she's telling the elf some sad tale of your pathetic life so he won't slit your throat in your sleep."

Ghrudur shrugged, finally allowing Marik to feed him. "Not matter, asleep, awake. Can't fight."

"No, you can't," the healer agreed, then sighed. "What have you done to her, orc?"

They looked each other in the eyes for several seconds before Ghrudur swallowed hard and shook his head. "Do nothing." He looked down at his body, eyes flicking from one damaged limb to the next. "What _can_ do?"

"You're a smith, right?" The orc glanced up at the surprising question.

"You know," he reminded the man. "Smith. Make weapon."

"So you were never in a battle? Never raised a sword against men?"

Ghrudur realized where this was going, and looked away uncomfortably. He could lie, he supposed, but he'd never lied in his life. There'd been no reason to, no purpose for it. While he could easily see the need here, what did it really matter, in the end?

"Yes," he said heavily. "Fight sometimes. Kill men."

"Raided a village?"

"Yes."

"Slaughtered women, children?"

"...Yes."

"Raped?"

Ghrudur nodded, feeling a sick twisting in his gut at the memory.

"Does she know about that?"

Again, Ghrudur nodded miserably.

"Would you do it again?"

The orc required no thought on the matter, and emphatically shook his head.

"Good to hear," Marik said gruffly, watching every twitch of the orc's face. "Now tell me. Honestly. What would you do if your body was fully healed? What would you do to _her_? Would you kill her? Beat her? Rape her?"

By the time the healer paused in his questioning, the orc was quivering with rage.

"Don't want hurt her!" he exploded. "No kill, no hurt, no...no ruh...rape. Want talk, want listen, want touch, want smile, want laugh, want mate, want _Lynn_!" he roared, shaking all over.

"Easy, easy," Marik soothed. Even incapacitated by his injuries, the orc's fury was terrifying to behold. The healer hadn't missed the orc's use of the word 'mate' when he had clearly overheard the two of them discussing the act in far more graphic and vile terms the previous day.

"Lynn look, see Ghrudur," he snarled. "Don't see orc, don't see beast. Don't kill, don't break, don't hurt." He glowered at the man sitting quietly, staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face. "Could kill. Kill orcs in war. Don't kill Ghrudur. Fight for Ghrudur."

"Yes," Marik said gently. "She's most certainly killed her share of orcs, and we're all confused about why she's defending you now. Nobody, and I mean _nobody_, in all of Gondor and Rohan would show you the mercy she has."

"She better than Gondor and Rohan men," the orc snapped.

The healer grunted. "Maybe so. While we tended you, I asked her why we were helping you. She said that her people didn't hunt down their enemies when the war was over. To her, the death of Sauron and defeat of Saruman were sufficient to end all hostilities. We should just leave orcs alone. Of course, that's not how things worked out."

Taking a deep breath, eyes intently focused on every reaction of the orc's face, Marik let it out slowly. "If you orcs had scurried back into your holes, we might have let you be. But you didn't. Gondor was brutalized by wandering bands of orcs for months and months after Sauron's fall. Rohan as well. The kings had no choice, you know. The people were frightened. They were trying to scrape their lives back together, deal with the loss of husbands, sons, aye, and a few daughters. You lot burned buildings and fields, slaughtered livestock, everywhere you went. Even in death there was no respite, for the rotting bodies in Isengard fouled the waters downstream." A muscle twitched beneath the orc's eye, but he otherwise made no movement, gaze fixed on the tent wall. "So the hunt began."

"Why she hunt?" Ghrudur asked dully.

"Would you believe she was bored?" the healer countered with a snort. "She was brought before the king – the _king_, mind you – because she kept terrorizing everyone with pranks and wild behavior. She didn't just consort with whores. She conspired with ragamuffins and street urchins to stir the pot in every tier of the city. She led a gang of young folk with questionable reputations as well, building strange devices she called 'snakeboards' or somesuch, and urging the younglings to ride them through the city streets. I saw many a nobleman dive into a vegetable bin in the market to escape collision with her or one of her cronies." Marik shook his head, whether with frustration or admiration, Ghrudur couldn't say.

"Captain Delon was the unfortunate fool saddled with removing her from the city," Marik continued. "As you may have noticed, they do not get along." Ghrudur grunted in the affirmative, and the healer nodded as well. "Truth be told, he once held a softer opinion of her, but she rejected his advances, then did something positively unforgivable."

"What she do?" the orc pressed, when Marik paused to take a sip of water.

"Saved his life. In front of witnesses, no less," the man said. At the orc's confused expression, Marik shook his head. "You must understand, he was already angry because she did not swoon before him when he approached her. He is a good friend, but he can be a pompous ass at times. He demanded that she remain within the city walls when the men rode out into the field during the siege, when Rohan rode to our aid. Having fought on the walls at Helm's Deep, Lynn was, as you can imagine, somewhat less than cooperative. Her descriptive retort was, shall we say, shockingly colorful. Enough to make a sailor blush, as my nan used to say. Long story short, she rode forth with the men, and as you probably overheard outside not long ago, she saved him not once but twice."

"She face _nazgul_."

"Indeed. I was not there, being a healer. I was tending the fallen within the city, but I was on hand when she was carried in. She actually struck a Ringwraith with an orcish dagger she'd picked up somewhere. Still held it in her hand, too. With it she distracted the creature long enough for Delon to reach safety, and it was strong enough to withstand a blow to one of their kind. Not many other weapons had."

"What...dagger?" Ghrudur asked hesitantly, not daring to imagine that the very same weapon he forged could have been the one she used.

"She carries it still," Marik said, getting up and heading for her pack. Before he reached it, the tent flaps flipped open and Captain Delon strode in, a furious look on his face.

"You had better behave yourself, orc," he snarled. Bewildered, Ghrudur glanced at Marik, who looked just as surprised.

The Captain wasn't alone. Following in his wake were a very pissed off Lynn, and Elrohir himself.


	8. Relief with Reservations

**Chapter 8: Relief with Reservations**

"Please excuse the sparse furnishings, my lord," Lynn said through gritted teeth. "I tend to travel light."

"I have no qualms about sitting on the floor, Lynn," the elf said, pointedly avoiding the orc's eyes. After some awkward shifting around the suddenly very crowded tent, Ghrudur found himself face-to-face with the _golug_. "You are Ghrudur," Elrohir said flatly.

The orc grunted and nodded, never taking his wary, disgusted gaze from that of the elf, who had a similarly hostile expression on his face. The stench of _golug_ nearly burned the orc's nostrils.

"Lynn has told me your tale," Elrohir said. "I would know your intentions. Should you recover fully, where will you go? What will you do?"

Ghrudur hadn't expected such questions. Glancing up at the woman, he saw her short nod. "Will do and want do. Different."

"Very well. What do you _want_ to do?"

The orc's gaze drifted away, his face almost wistful. As if he suddenly remembered where he was, and who was in front of him, he scowled and bared his teeth. "Don't matter."

"Humor me. What do you want to do?" the elf repeated sternly.

"Make weapon. Make _thauk_, _shaput_. Make...different. Not orc-like. _Thauku-toru_."

Elrohir frowned and glanced over his shoulder at Lynn. Still seething, she translated his words through gritted teeth. "_Thauk_ is dagger, _shaput_ is a short sword."

"And the last?"

"Beautiful daggers."

"Ah," Elrohir said, returning his attention to the orc. "Do you even know what beauty is, orc?"

Without taking his eyes off the elf lord, Ghrudur raised his arm awkwardly. The effort clearly caused him great pain, as his eyes twitched and his lips curled in a grimace. Yet he managed to direct his bandaged limb to point unsteadily at Lynn. "_Sharlob-tor_," he growled defiantly. [Translation: Beautiful woman]

"I see," the elf said softly, concern flitting across his features. He could guess the meaning of _that_ word. Flicking his eyes to Lynn, he noted the brief look of surprise, the darkening of her cheeks, before she hid once more behind her fierce mask.

"Make your point, Elrohir," Lynn snapped.

"That is what you want to do. Now what _will_ you do?"

If possible, the orc's scowl deepened, contorting his features even more. "Hide."

"From whom do you hide, orc?"

"Men. _Golug-hai_," he spat. "Orcs."

The elf lord clearly did not appreciate the orcish word for his people and glared angrily at the orc.

"Mind your tongue, beast," Delon interjected venomously.

"_You_ mind tongue!" Ghrudur roared, shooting a baleful gaze at the Captain. "You want kill Ghrudur, kill Ghrudur! You waste time. Talk, talk, talk, get nothing! Kill Ghrudur, done talk!" Pressing his lips together, he turned his face away from them all. It was clear that he would say nothing else.

"Happy now?" Lynn snarled. "I told you. Naturally, nobody listened. Why am I not surprised?"

Sighing, Elrohir rose. "I will not kill you, orc. You have a good friend in Lynn. Do not squander that gift." Turning to the Captain, he said, "Now that I see him, it is clear he cannot sit a horse. Send for a cart to bear him. See to his delivery to Edoras as quickly as possible."

"Yes sir," Delon replied, snapping a salute and leaving the tent to issue orders.

"Lynn," the elf lord said gently, "I would have no harsh words between us. You were ever a friend to my family. Believe me or don't, but when I heard it was you who stood between me and my prey, I suspected there was more to the story. Now I see this is true."

"There is _always_ more to the story," the woman replied, though her voice was less heated as her days-old tension began to release. "Very few are willing to listen."

Glancing back at the orc, Elrohir noted that his ears flicked slightly, listening to their words though his head was still turned stubbornly away. "He will be long in recovering from such injuries. Are you committed?"

"Yes," she replied without hesitation.

"Your battles have not ended," he said, holding Lynn's eyes with his. "The war is still not over for many people."

"I'm well aware of that. While I am...grateful for your mercy, I am less than enthusiastic about your decision."

"Yet you will abide by it. As soon as may be, now. Captain Delon wishes to move on."

"Captain Delon can blow it out...," Lynn began, then thought better of it, and sighed. "Yes, sir."

"Marik," the elf lord nodded to the healer, then left the tent.

The healer let out a long breath he'd been holding for quite some time. "All right. So. What decision? What's this about Edoras?"

"Since he's 'officially' a 'citizen' of Isengard, Elrohir considers this to be a Rohan issue," she snapped, ripping her gauntlets off and throwing them into a corner. "Pretty much taking the Pontius Pilate route. We're to escort Ghru to Edoras and appeal to the king regarding his fate."

"We...," Marik said uncertainly. "Does that include me?"

"No, you're the luckless bastard who has to chase after Delon all over the hills and dales, putting band-aids on his boo-boos," she snarled as she yanked mercilessly on the buckles of her mail to remove the protective shell. "He was gracious enough to volunteer an escort of half a dozen men. So that'll be six men I have to hold off from throttling Ghru for the three day journey, assuming we can even find a cart in one of the nearby villages, _and_ assuming they can afford to part with it this close to harvest time."

"Surely the men wouldn't, not if they were given orders..."

"I won't get a wink of sleep for the whole trip," she muttered, peeling the last of her armor off, leaving her standing in the center of the tent in nothing but her linen underthings, which were plastered to her skin from the nervous sweat covering her body. Marik swallowed and looked away uncomfortably.

"Do me a favor and get a mound of food. Enough to choke a horse, if you please," she said, fetching another large flask of goodness-knows-what out of her pack. Without even looking for the discarded cups, she uncorked the flask and tipped a long drink down her throat. Marik hastened from the tent.

"Here," she said, holding the flask up to Ghrudur's lips. He gratefully took a drink. The cursed brew seared his insides, yet drove a good deal of his own tensions away. She was sitting before him once again. He was surprised to see her putting the flask to her own mouth right after it had touched his. The simple gesture made his heart thud. The sight of her curves so well outlined by her damp clothing did other things to him not so easily concealed.

"No kill," the orc said gruffly, clearing his throat.

"No kill," she agreed. "Not yet, anyway. Don't rest on your laurels, though. We still have to convince Rohan's king, and Eomer is not particularly fond of orcs, either." Rubbing her eyes wearily with a shaking hand, Lynn said, "Last I heard, he was receiving goods and provisions from Dol Imroth, Gondor, Eregion...pretty much anywhere he could get them. Roving bands of orcs and wild men from the hills tore his country a new one during, and after the war. Then you've got the survivors from Pellenor roaming around causing mischief, add the Dunlendings taking advantage of the chaos... It's a fucking mess up there."

"Rohan need weapon," Ghrudur said thoughtfully, accepting another drink. "Make weapon for Rohan."

"I'll do the best I can," she said. "Believe it or not, elves can be more reasonable than men. Certainly, they're less likely to blow up in an emotional tirade than humans." A self-deprecating smile quirked her mouth. "So Elrohir was actually a small obstacle to overcome. Eomer, on the other hand..."

She tipped back the flask once more, noting it was nearly empty. "Did I...did I just drink this whole thing?"

"Think so."

"Fuck. I haven't eaten anything since breakfast. I've been so wound up...," Lynn muttered. As if it had been lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to spring, a wave of nausea surged up. A look of alarm flashed across her face as she covered her mouth with one hand and scrambled out of the tent, flinging the flap open with the other. She nearly knocked Marik and his burden over in her haste.

"Drank too fast, eh?" the healer asked sardonically as he set the heavy tray down. The sounds of the woman emptying her stomach violently outside could be heard. Marik chuckled. "She tries, but Lynn doesn't hold her liquor well. If she doesn't vomit it up like she's doing now, she's a surly harridan come morning."

When Lynn returned, looking pale and slightly green, Marik had already fed Ghrudur a few bits of meat. Standing, the healer said, "I have some things to do. A word outside, if you don't mind?"

Rolling her eyes, for she dearly wanted to lie down in a cocoon of self-pity at the moment, Lynn followed Marik outside. The healer led her a fair distance from her tent, raising her suspicions.

"I wanted to make sure he wouldn't hear," the man explained, glancing back at her tent in the distance. "He has amazing hearing."

"Speak your piece, Marik, I'm close to the edge here."

Rubbing his jaw, Marik said, "I can't believe I'm saying this. It has to be the queerest thing that has ever happened in the history of the world."

"For the love of Christ, man, spit it out!" Lynn snarled, worrying a headache trying to take root between her eyes.

"He loves you."

She froze, then slowly lowered her hand to narrow her eyes at the healer. "If you mean that tool Captain..."

"No."

"Who, then?" she asked slowly.

"The orc. I've seen this before in some of my patients. They go through a traumatic experience, then cling to the one who shows them a kindness. Several of the ladies aiding me in the House of Healing were wed to men of Gondor and Rohan within weeks of the battle." Sighing deeply, he said, "The way he talks about you, even as bad as his Westron is, it isn't hard to figure out."

"That's, uh, not possible," she muttered, shaking her head with a shaky, humorless laugh. "Is it?"

Marik shrugged. "I'm no expert on orcs. There have long been rumors that the Uruk-hai were bred from men as well as orcs, so it's _possible_ some...gentler feelings may be buried within them. Looking at him, as angry as he is all the time, it isn't easy to see such things. But I've been watching him, the way he looks at you, how his entire bearing changes when you're there... All I'm saying is, be _very_ careful. The longer you tend him, the stronger this...whatever it is...will likely get. I fear for your safety once he has full use of his body again."

She was silent for several moments. The sun had only just settled in the west, casting a warm orange glow on the horizon. Marik watched her face, growing more alarmed the longer he did so.

"Lynn," he said, a warning in his voice, "don't tell me that beast's...affections...are returned?" His voice lowered to a whisper of disbelief.

Shooting a hostile glare at the healer, Lynn whirled around and stomped back to her tent.

Marik's stomach clenched. She was angry at his presumption, true, but there was nothing like denial in her eyes.


	9. Haunting Memories

**Chapter 9: Haunting Memories**

It took two days to secure a worn out old horse cart to deliver the orc to Edoras. Once acquired, Lynn clucked over the contraption like a mother hen, demanding that the struts be oiled, the rotted boards replaced, axles straightened...in short, she wanted to ensure the orc's journey would be as smooth as possible. In the end, Delon was forced to confine her to her tent so the wretched transport could be loaded and prepared.

Ghrudur lay on a thick, multi-layered pallet in the cart, staring up at the seat bottom suspended above his head. She'd insisted he keep his head in the relative shade provided by the seat. Six mounted riders chafed on either side of the cart, impatient to get the whole thing over with. Lynn's own horse was tied to the back, and Lynn herself climbed onto the seat to drive. A horse had, luckily, come with the cart, as none of the soldiers wished to demote their trusted steed to such menial tasks as pulling the orc-cart over the mountains.

Returning Delon's salute with her middle finger extended, Lynn clicked her tongue to the horse, snapped the reins, and the cart lurched into motion.

After awhile, the party increased its speed to a relatively easy canter. The noise of the cart was nigh unbearable to the orc's sensitive ears, and the lurching caused by the bend in one axle made him feel as if he were on the high seas during a storm. But he clenched his jaw against the pain and nausea, and said nothing. He picked up on Lynn's feelings by scent, and at the moment she was highly agitated. Whether it was because the men kept shooting him hateful, threatening looks, or because of their destination, he wasn't sure.

The sudden halt to the cart's monotonous movement jerked Ghrudur awake sometime late in the afternoon, judging by the position of the sun overhead. Then he heard them.

There was shouting as the men engaged the orcs on horseback. The cart lurched violently, squealing on worn struts, as Lynn vaulted off the buckboard to join the fray. Panic welling in his stomach, Ghrudur tried to sink more deeply into the pallet, make himself small, try not to be seen. Shame came in equal measures with the fear that gripped him.

It ended quickly, the seasoned Gondorans too well armed and armored to be defeated by a disorganized band of half-starved orcs. When Lynn returned to the cart to check on Ghrudur, she was surprised to see the orc's state. He was nearly hyperventilating, eyes squeezed shut yet welling with tears, mouth set in a grimace that showed clenched teeth. His entire body shook, and there was the unmistakable odor of urine in the air.

"Secure the perimeter," she ordered the men. "Make sure there aren't any others lurking about." The men saluted and rode off, leaving her alone with Ghrudur.

"Easy," she breathed as she carefully climbed into the cart beside him. "It's all over. You're safe."

His eyes jerked open, spilling the tears down his face. He stared at the underside of the buckboard as she cleaned him off and removed the soiled linens. When the men returned, reporting the existence of an empty camp not far away, there was no evidence remaining that he had lost control.

They continued on, finally stopping for the night in a protected hollow in the foothills of the White Mountains. Lynn studied the map with one of the men, a young officer named Kaen. He was fairly familiar with their present location, more versed in this part of Gondor than the others.

"Just west of here should be the Gilrain River," Kaen said. "There ought to be a pass along its banks that'll get us across the mountains and into Rohan."

"Ought to be?" Lynn replied skeptically. "Are you going by memory, or should there just be a pass because you think it would be appropriate?"

The young man chuckled. "I'm fairly sure, miss. My family lives aways further west. My brothers and I have hunted these hills for years."

"Ever crossed over?"

"No," the man admitted a little sheepishly.

"Well, I suppose we'll just have to give it a shot. How hard can it be, after all, eh?"

Kaen caught her worried expression as she glanced toward the cart.

"Miss," he said tentatively, "may I ask an impertinent question?"

Sighing, she turned a guarded look toward the young man. "Go ahead."

"Why are we..."

"...hauling an orc into Rohan?" she finished, raising an eyebrow.

"...Yes, miss."

"I have my reasons, none of which are any concern of yours."

"I'm not the only one asking, miss," he pressed. "We'll follow orders, and we'll keep him safe if that's what we're supposed to do, but we have to know the reason we're risking our lives."

"Delon told you nothing?"

"He just said we were to escort you both to Edoras, and follow your orders. There were rumors these few days he's been in camp, but..." Kaen's voice trailed off, ending in a shrug.

Lynn grimaced, setting her hands at her waist. "Figures. Leave the dirty jobs for me. Look, Kaen, you're not blind, neither are the rest of the men. You've seen the condition he's in. Could you kill him?" The man opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off. "Before you answer, I'll tell you he's a smith. He's rarely seen combat. You're probably more blooded than he is. His home was destroyed, and he has no place to go. No kin, no friends, no community to welcome him home, _nothing_. Everywhere he goes, whether he intends ill or not, he will likely be attacked on sight. He isn't even safe among his own kind. _That's_ what happened to him when he tried. Now can you kill him?"

The young man thought for a moment. "Does he not seek death?"

"Probably. But I'm not the sort who would give it to him. Are you?"

"He's an orc," the man said evasively.

"Are you no different than they? You would slaughter the helpless? I was under the impression that we possessed mercy, or is that just a word of comfort to ease the fears of our womenfolk?" she asked, a challenging frown on her face.

"I saw him, after the orcs attacked," Kaen said. "He looked terrified, and I swear I saw tears. And, uh, I think he..." The soldier looked away uncomfortably.

"You would be correct. Remember what was done to him, and by whom. They broke him, Kaen," she said pointedly.

Swallowing, the man nodded.

"I'm not asking you to embrace him as a brother," she said gently. "Just...don't kill him. He's been through hell, and it still haunts him. We aren't orcs; we should never act like them. An orc would feed off his suffering. I believe we are better than that." Patting the man firmly on the shoulder, Lynn left him to his thoughts and issued orders for the watch.

* * *

><p>Ghrudur sucked on his lip, long since chewed through until bloody following the attack. She hadn't spoken with him or even looked at him, save the brief rest for their afternoon meal. It was reasonable to think that, since she was in command, she would be required to spend more time among the soldiers, but it was no comfort to the orc. He had pissed himself when he heard the orcs' battle cries, a reaction he wasn't prepared for, and it was just as reasonable that his cowardice disgusted her.<p>

To his surprise, the cart lurched noisily as she climbed in beside him.

"Sorry it took so long," she said as she settled in close, a sack in her hand. "Soldiers are like babies. You have to tell them where and when to shit. If I have to hold their hands while they piss too, I'm going to write a very nasty letter to the king about his training program."

A nervous laugh fought its way out Ghrudur's mouth. He couldn't look her in the face as she shared her rations with him. Yet she watched him carefully.

"Ghru," she said softly. His eyes flicked briefly toward her then away again. "I don't think any less of you."

A lump formed in his throat and he had trouble swallowing. The orc's vision blurred as more hated tears brimmed and flowed. Snarling, he used his one good limb to push himself partially on his side, away from her.

"You will heal," Lynn continued, her voice kind. "I'll see to it. I promise you that."

"Weak," he muttered. "Fear. Weep. Pih...piss. Kill Ghrudur. No good."

"Nonsense," she admonished. "My people have a saying. 'That which does not kill us, makes us stronger.' You survived. Maybe they broke you, but you will mend. You will be strong again. Mark my words, you will be swinging a hammer in Rohan for Eomer King by the end of the year, or I'll die trying."

He fell heavily onto his back, staring at her fierce, determined expression.

"Meet me halfway at least, Ghru," she told him firmly. "I will be extremely displeased if I have to drag you all the way."

* * *

><p>The trek through the mountains was tedious in the extreme. Lynn sat slumped forward on the buckboard, reins held loosely in her hands. The sun on her back, though waning towards the onset of winter, was still fiercely hot as it baked her body within the mail she wore. Her men took turns riding out to the sides and ahead, scouting for any more fugitive orcs or hillmen with a grudge.<p>

Lynn was fairly sure that if she never saw the back end of a horse again, it would be too soon.

Her mind wandered back to last night, when she lay next to Ghru and looked at the stars overhead.

_They're actually burning balls of gas millions of miles away._

_You lie._

_Huh-uh. If I'm lyin', I'm dyin'. And that thing there, that's a gigantic rock._

_Rock? In sky? No._

_Sure it is. It spins around the earth. When we can't see it, it's hanging over the other side of the world._

_Where sun go?_

_Nowhere. We're spinning around the sun. Stop laughing! I'm serious!_

_What sun? Rock or gas?_

_Gas. Some stars are suns for other worlds._

_Like this?_

_Maybe. My people haven't gotten that far yet. We've walked on the moon, though._

_Rock in sky? Walk there?_

_Yeah. Not me, mind you. There's less gravity there, and no air. Men have to wear special suits so they can breathe._

…

_You lie._

Chuckling to herself, Lynn smiled fondly. He was in a rare playful mood, and she found herself completely at ease with him. Tracing constellations in the air with her finger, she found him to be eager to learn and a quick study, for all that he assumed she was making it all up on the spot. She privately resolved to help him improve his language skills. Westron was far more acceptable than orcish, if he was going to be hanging out with humans. Fatigue and that feeling of comfort allowed her to drift off to sleep, her shoulder pressed to his in the bed of the cart.

Thankfully, a horse's sneeze woke her before any of the men found her lying next to the orc. In any other place, she wouldn't give two shits what anyone thought, but they weren't out of the woods yet, as it were, and even if the men were slightly uncomfortable following a woman's orders, they would undoubtedly rally to her defense if they believed a woman's virtue was in danger.

Sighing, she glanced down at the orc sleeping fitfully below her seat. What the hell was she feeling for him, she wondered angrily. She'd sent many orcs to their final reward over the last year; what made this one so incredibly different? It couldn't be what happened to him. She'd experienced orc cruelty first hand. If anything, she should be gloating over the comeuppance he received.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she threw up her internal shields when memories of Mauhur's assault surged up once more. She hadn't told Ghru everything, nor did she plan on it. No one knew that for a moment, just a moment that seemed to last an eternity, as the orc lingered over her wounded neck, letting her blood run into his hot mouth, she had shivered. Her fists clenched. Her pulse quickened. Her loins quivered. She could feel him smile against her skin as he sensed her reaction.

And she wasn't about to tell a soul.


	10. Simple Question, Hard Answer

**Chapter 10: Simple Question, Hard Answer**

If going up into the mountain pass was arduous and unnerving, descending into the plains via switchbacks and sharp declines nearly scared the crap out of Lynn and Ghrudur. Twice, the weak hand brake slipped, the cart bumped into the hind quarters of the already skittish horse, and the animal bolted. The second time, the horse didn't stop running until they were completely out of the pass. The gelding had obviously decided enough was enough and wished to get the trip over with as quickly as possible.

When Lynn finally dragged the horse to a stop, she was laughing hysterically.

"What funny?" Ghrudur asked shakily. With three of four limbs useless, he'd been jostled and bounced in the back like a sack of potatoes.

"Wow, just like a roller coaster!" she cried, securing the reins and turning. Well behind them, the soldiers were carefully threading their way down to where the cart stopped. The horse's flanks heaved and sweat poured down its sides. Lynn leaped down to tend to the horse.

"This fun? Where you come from?" the orc grumbled as he took deep breaths to steady his racing heart.

"Don't be such a wet blanket, Ghru," she teased. "My people pay for thrills like that."

"Your people crazy."

"I never said we weren't," she replied, giggling.

"Are you all right?" Kaen called as he rode up.

"Yeah, we're fine," Lynn answered, a thread of concern now in her voice. "I think the old nag is pretty well winded, though. May be lamed, too. Can you come over here and take a look?"

The man dismounted and bent to examine the exhausted horse's legs. One of the soldiers rode close to the cart and looked down at the orc. His dark gray eyes met the orc's pale yellow, and he sneered. He drew a gloved finger across his throat. Without another word, he pulled his horse away from the cart and out of Ghrudur's sight.

The threat was clear, and left the orc trembling with rage. He had done nothing, said nothing, harmed no one! If the _golug_ lord saw fit to spare his life, the _tark_ could damn well sheathe his sword as well.

"All right, boys," Lynn said, straightening stiffly and dusting her hands against one another. "We're not going any further today. The cart horse needs rest. Set up camp. Kaen and I will take first watch..."

Ghrudur stopped listening, the man's threat too infuriating for him to focus on anything else. Even when Lynn joined him for their shared meal, he wasn't able to do more than grunt noncommittally in response to anything she said. Finally exasperated by his reticence, Lynn poked him in the chest.

"Hey, dude, what's eating you?"

"Nothing eat," he snapped, not really caring that he didn't quite know what the hell that meant.

Lynn regarded him thoughtfully. "Are you angry with me? About the cart thing?"

"No."

Frowning, she tried again. "Did someone say something to you?"

He hesitated for a moment, then said truthfully, "No."

"You're having PMS?"

Slowly turning his head to glare at her, he curled his lip and growled.

"Oh. Right. I'm supposed to read your mind, now," she huffed. "Never mind that, besides being different genders which already guarantees a communication barrier, we're also different species. Somehow I'm supposed to be able to translate across that massive abyss with no clues to work with except that you look pissed, which is how you look all the time anyway."

He pushed himself onto his side again, causing no end of pain in his shoulder but too angry to care.

"Oh, no you don't," Lynn growled. Grabbing his arm, she pulled him roughly back, shaking the cart briefly when he landed. "You don't get the luxury of shutting me out."

"Go now!" he roared.

"Something wrong here?" Kaen asked hesitantly from the foot of the cart.

"Just a little disagreement," Lynn said impatiently. "Nothing to worry about."

Shrugging, the soldier said, "I was about to head out. You coming?"

"Yeah, give me a minute," she replied. When he was gone, Lynn leaned close to Ghru and hissed in his ear, "We're not through here." Then she scooted out of the cart and left him.

Sleep took him eventually, after he'd calmed down somewhat. The lurch of the cart, accompanied by the shrill squeak of the struts, woke him halfway through the night. Before he could acknowledge Lynn's presence, she smacked his bare chest.

"Awake?" she snapped unnecessarily.

"Yes," he replied, annoyed.

"Good." He felt her scuffing up against him as she worked to find a comfortable position, then she finally settled. "So."

"So."

"You lied to me."

He shot her an angry look. "No lie!"

"Shush! Keep your damned voice down. You want the watch to come running?"

"No lie," he hissed more quietly.

"If you didn't lie, you stretched the truth. Kaen said to keep an eye on one of the men. He's pretty sure the guy wants to kill you, orders be damned. I'm guessing he did or said something to provoke you. Care to try again?"

Fuming, he described what the soldier had done, the look on his face. "Do nothing. Want kill man, can't."

"I know," she said softly. "But you're in a different world now. No matter how much abuse people heap on you, if you want to survive, you'll have to just suck it up. It isn't fair, it isn't right, but these people are going to be looking for a reason to punish you for every bad thing any orc anywhere in Middle Earth has ever done."

Ghrudur stared up at the buckboard. "Can't. Will fight. Can't _not_ fight."

"You managed to keep out of trouble in Isengard," she said reasonably. "I'm sure you had your bad days. Probably had other orcs knocking you around just for the fun of it. Did you fight then?"

"Yes. Kill, too."

"I stand corrected. I guess you were a bit of a bruiser, then." He could hear the humor in her voice.

"_Nargzab-izg dhûzud bukot_," Ghrudur murmured. [I just want peace.]

"We all want that," she said with a sigh. "If it is within my power to give, I'll see that you get it. One way or another."

"Why?" he asked quietly. "You give much. Give nothing to you. Want give. Can't."

"Call me a sucker for lost causes," she said. "Always rooting for the underdog. Anyway, it's not true that you give me nothing. You give a lot."

"What give?" he snorted. "What want give, can't."

"What do you want to give me, Ghru?"

"_Kulûk lat nargzab_," he replied, his tone urgent as if he spoke an oath. "_Kraur-izub, hûn-izub, frûm-izub, dulug-izub. Rûgh kraash-ob-izg. Uk brus-izg golmat._" [Translation: Anything you want. My body, my heart, my spirit, my weapon. Every part of me. All I have to offer.]

Lynn lay beside the orc, stunned. She had thought Marik was out of his mind, imagining things. She assumed what the orc was really feeling was simple lust, wanting only to satisfy his physical needs. Her mind reeled at the notion that a creature bred in darkness, fueled by hate, driven to kill, could feel anything remotely resembling love. Yet by his own words, it was clear the physical aspect was only a small part of what he desired.

When she did not respond immediately, Ghrudur began to sweat. It occurred to him that perhaps such bold words were not welcome. He had to mentally kick himself; _of course_ his words were not welcome!

Hoping to brush it off, Ghrudur forced a guttural laugh. "No fear. Won't give. Try give, Lynn kill. Men kill. King kill. _Golug_ lord kill."

Recovering herself, Lynn let out a shuddering breath she hadn't realized she was holding in her shock. "Don't be silly. I wouldn't kill you for that. Everyone else on your list, however... Yeah, I think they'd be taking numbers to do you in."

"No kill? Give, you no kill?"

"Let's not be jumping ahead, Ghru," she said carefully. "I talk a good game, but I'm rather...reluctant to play. At least, when it matters, I am. I think, in this instance, it matters a huge amount. To you, and to me. So...slowly, okay?"

"Don't...understand," he said, stumbling as always over that particular word. "Want or don't want?"

"God, if only it could be that simple," she muttered half to herself. "Okay. I don't have to go into the whole racial difference here, do I? Or the cultural one?"

"Don't understand," he repeated more forcefully, clearly frustrated.

"Best to lay it out, then," Lynn said, rubbing her eyes. "All right. You do intrigue me quite a bit, Ghru. The differences between us are profound, but that's sort of what makes you so interesting. I've flirted shamelessly with you mostly because it was safe to do so, and I'm really sorry about that."

"Flirt? What flirt?" he asked.

"Flirting is where you do or say things to show someone your interest in them," she explained. "I suppose you could call flirting a sort of...well, a mating thing. Kind of."

"Mate," he said hesitantly. His voice shook with hope. "You want mate?"

"I said _sort of_," she hastily reiterated. "More often than not, women flirt just to mess with a guy. I assure you, that's not what I was doing. You just...I don't know. You were playing up to me so much, it just came naturally."

"No sense!" he hissed. "Make sense!"

"Okay, okay!" she said. "Keep your shirt on! You want the unvarnished truth? Fine! I like you, okay? Satisfied?"

"Like," he snapped, still not getting it. "Don't know 'like'. What 'like'?"

"Oh, for the love of..._narmokat_, god dammit!" [Translation: to like (nar + mok, not hate)]

"Why not say first?" he snapped. "_Sharlob gashnat shum, gashnat narash_." [Translation: Woman talks a lot, says nothing.]

"I do believe I pointed that out a couple of days ago, if you recall, so it shouldn't come as a surprise to you," she retorted. Sighing wearily, she tried to keep her voice even. "I need more than a few days to... really... uh... dammit..." She suddenly became aware of just how closely she was lying next to him in the cramped cart, how warm his body was in the chill night air, how he seemed to purr as he breathed... "More time. That's what I need. Time to think."

"What think? Want or don't want. Simple."

Lynn rolled her eyes. "Nothing is that simple. Maybe for you, it's simple. Either you can't think about it logically, or you don't give a shit," she snapped impatiently. "I wish I didn't give a shit, but I have no choice."

"Take or leave," Ghrudur snorted stubbornly.

"What, we're negotiating a treaty here?" Rolling to her side to look at him, she couldn't hide the grin fighting its way to the surface. "A trade agreement, is it?"

His eyes flicked to her, caught the teasing tone, and he softened somewhat. "Yes. Trade. Give you, you give back. Fair trade."

"I see how you are," she smirked. "But I think we should suspend negotiations until all parties at the table have full control of their faculties." She trailed a finger up his arm. "Though I'm at a clear advantage here."

He shivered under her touch, seeming to burn even through the bandages. Swallowing hard, he looked into her eyes, so different from his own. "Want...or don't want."

She couldn't look away, couldn't ignore the quivering sensation that shot through her, tightening her stomach and sending darts of longing to her center. "Want. Just...not yet."

It took a huge effort to leave his side, but Lynn knew one more moment in his presence might undo everything she was fighting so hard to accomplish. Sometimes, personal things had to take a backseat to higher purposes.


	11. Meeting Old Friends, Part 2

**Chapter 11: Meeting Old Friends, Part 2**

_He fell on her with crushing force, roaring like a wild beast. She struggled, but she was no match for his strength. With sharp claws, he rent her breeches down the back, used his legs to force hers apart. She tried to scream, but he covered her mouth with his hand. Instead, she wailed against his palm, begging him to stop, but her cries only inflamed him more._

"_Want or don't want," he snarled in her ear. She shook her head emphatically, desperately pushing against the ground with her arms, trying to tip him off her back._

_As he forced himself into her, his teeth pierced her neck. Sweet blood filled his mouth, and poured from her body._

_And poured. He couldn't let go. The blood was gushing too strongly for him to consume it all. He was drowning in her blood. She was bleeding from places he hadn't even touched. He couldn't breathe. She went limp and dead beneath him, but the blood still poured._

Ghrudur shot awake, finding himself sitting up, pulling huge gulps of air into his lungs. The camp was slowly coming to life around him, for the sun was just lightening the horizon. Lynn was approaching, a look of concern on her face. He didn't want to see her at the moment; as horrifying as the dream was, he woke with a throbbing erection he didn't want her to know about.

"Hey, look at you," Lynn said. "I didn't think you could sit up without help. That's a hell of an improvement, don't you think?"

The orc hastily covered his lap with his heavily bandaged hands and shrugged.

"You look like shit, Ghru," she said. "Bad dream?"

Not trusting his voice yet, the orc only nodded.

"Well, I'm going to rustle up some grub, and I don't mean the squishy things under logs," she clarified with a grin when he looked aghast.

He watched her hips sway as she walked away. Slowly, he drew his tongue over his lips, but bit down hard on it when he remembered what he'd done. Dream it may have been, but the violent act had aroused him, and he was ashamed.

It hit him now with perfect clarity. There was nothing standing between him and Lynn. He could take her as a mate, she could give him sons. There was only one problem – he was an orc. That was one obstacle that would never be overcome. Even if by some miracle Lynn could overlook his repulsive appearance, there was no disguising his nature. No protecting her from himself.

The familiar lurch of the cart as Lynn climbed in next to him broke through his thoughts.

"I have an exciting selection this morning," she said a bit sarcastically. "There's this delightful crusty bread that could easily replace the crap-ass wheels on this piece of shit cart. Some salted pork that _might_ not give you dysentery. An apple that looks like it was fetched from the belly of a goat at the last minute. And I _think_ this...thing...might be an apple that couldn't be rescued in time." She offered him the bread with a grin.

He couldn't help but laugh at her descriptions. Chewing on the hard bread, he watched her. It was as if the conversation of the night before hadn't happened, or at least hadn't horrified her. Ghrudur supposed that was the best he was going to get, and more than he deserved for his audacity.

Lynn glanced at him. "I like spending time with you, Ghru," she said softly. "I wish...well, I wish we could be completely alone to really talk, and... whatever else... happens," she finished awkwardly. "Face it, you're going to be heavily scrutinized for a long time. You won't get any peace. Assuming I can talk Eomer into not killing you on sight, that is. I won't be as free to see you when I want to, either." Catching his dismayed expression, she said, "I _will_ help you recover, Ghru. Don't worry about that. I doubt I'll be overwhelmed with volunteers to see to your needs, so you can rest assured that I'll be at your side constantly. But...I suspect Eomer won't let me do it alone. There will probably be a guard. One at first, more as you regain your strength. Just...prepare yourself for that."

Drawing himself up as straight as he could, Ghrudur said firmly, "Don't care. Near Lynn, enough. Still talk?"

Nodding, she smiled. "Yes, we'll still talk. Someone has to get your Westron up to speed. You won't be able to slip into orcish when you get frustrated. Ignoring the fact that few understand it, they're just not going to take it too well if you speak it here." Smirking, she said, "You should have seen the shit storm erupt when Gandalf spoke it in Rivendell."

"What wrong with orc tongue?" he asked, frowning.

"Oh, you know elves," she said dismissively. "Anything made by Sauron gets their britches in a twist, orcs included."

They were interrupted by Kaen, girded for a long journey. "Excuse me, miss, is there anything else?"

Lynn shook her head. "Just be careful. And make sure Eomer understands that Elrohir let him go. If he won't let Ghru into the city, at least allow us to camp outside the walls. I can go inside and talk to him there if needs be. I'd also like a healer to take a look at him at some point."

The man glanced at the orc. Ghrudur was surprised to see little hostility in the soldier's eyes. Snapping a salute to Lynn, Kaen turned on his heel and left to mount his horse. The woman and the orc watched him depart, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.

"Tell king?"

"I thought it best. While I find it hilarious to spring surprises on people when they least suspect it, I thought I'd act out of character this one time. There's funny, and there's cruel. Not sure who'd be cruel to whom in this instance, but I thought I'd avoid it all the same."

"Good," Ghrudur nodded. "No...surprise. Not funny."

"Amen to that."

* * *

><p>"Ooo," Lynn muttered, squinting into the distance. "Company." Barking an order, she firmly drew back on the cart horse's reins, slowing to a walk. The five remaining soldiers reined in their horses as well.<p>

The dust cloud obscured the approaching riders, so Lynn had no clear idea how many were coming, or even who they were, exactly, but since they were well into the Eastfold, less than half a day's ride from Edoras, it didn't take a genius to make a good guess.

As the party neared, Lynn's mood dropped to an all-time low. By colors alone, she recognized a marshal approaching. There was only one marshal she knew of who would take such a task on, and it didn't give her any confidence about how the rest of this endeavor would play out.

The two groups met and halted. The Rohirrim looked to have ridden hard to intercept the Gondorans. Lynn climbed down from the cart as the marshal dismounted.

"Gamling," she said, extending a hand. He accepted it, shaking firmly twice before letting go.

"Lynn," he said, brow furrowed. "What madness has taken you this time?"

Feigning surprise, the woman replied, "Why, Gamling, I have no idea what you mean." Flashing him what she hoped was an innocent smile, she said, "I honestly thought you'd forgotten about that."

"The bards still sing of it," he growled. "Show me the beast."

"Damn, so it wasn't me you were racing to see? I'm terribly offended." Turning, she led Gamling to the cart. "I'll warn you, he's not feeling his best. Our rations are starting to sour. It took us a bit longer to cut through the mountains than we thought. Add a rocking cart, and you can imagine. He's still a bit green around the gills."

The marshal grunted but made no other comment. When they reached the cart, he scowled down at the orc.

Ghrudur was sweating profusely and shivering from the aftereffects of a recent round of vomiting. His eyes were half closed, mouth half open, his breathing shallow and ragged.

Gamling's brow furrowed. "What happened to him?"

"Before I poisoned him with our food, he was tortured by orcs," Lynn said. She then described the orc's many injuries, pointing to various parts of his body. "He's not much of a threat, you see."

"Not at the moment," the marshal conceded. "But how long will that last, eh?"

"Our healer said he's recovering twice as fast as a man," Lynn said. "Three to four weeks at most."

"What happens then?"

"Well, it's not like he's an injured fox I can just turn loose in the wild when he's all better," she replied. "I was hoping I could talk Eomer into...well..."

"Into what?" Gamling asked suspiciously.

"Into letting him stay on. No, listen! He's a smith. Talk about a small world, but he's the one who made the dagger I used on the Ringwraith. Remember that? Damn good blade if it stood up to that, don't you think?"

"How do you know he made it?"

"Believe it or not, he put his maker's mark on it. That tells me he has pride in his work. Plus, the dagger doesn't look like your typical orcish blade. He made it special for an officer." Looking down at the fevered orc, Lynn sighed. "You could travel all over Middle Earth and probably not find another orc who dared mark the things he made as his own while Sauron or Saruman were in charge. Such individuality was never encouraged." Chuckling, she added, "Poor guy can't even use the pronoun 'I' when he mangles Westron."

Gamling regarded the orc in silence for several minutes.

Nervous, Lynn found herself talking just to fill the conversational void. "All he wants to do is make swords. He'll make them for Rohan, if allowed. There's really nothing else to do with him, except the obvious, I guess."

Snorting, Gamling turned to Lynn. "He should be slain, and you know it. Why you've suffered him to draw breath this long is beyond my ken."

"He suffers more than I do, trust me," she said stiffly.

"Do I need to remind you of how the orcs of Saruman's making nearly tore this land apart?" the marshal snarled. "How many died at their hands? How many _didn't_ die in their hands, though they begged for an end?"

"Not _his_ hands!" she roared. "He will _not_ answer for crimes he didn't commit! Once Saruman was bent on building his forces against Rohan, he was put in the forges and did _nothing else_ but make weapons. He is _not_ responsible for what use they were put to."

"You have only his word on that," Gamling sneered. "You are a fool to believe it."

"He's not completely innocent, I know," Lynn snapped. "He's been in battle, he's been on raids in the Westfold. I promise you, though, I've killed more of his kind than he has of ours."

"Don't want kill," Ghrudur murmured weakly. "Want make weapon."

Lynn raised her eyebrows and looked expectantly at the marshal.

Taking a deep breath, Gamling let it out slowly. "He's a broken heap. There is no honor in slaying him, though it is deserved. Bring him. The king will decide his fate."

"Thank you, Gamling," Lynn said with relief. "I take back everything I ever said about you."

* * *

><p>Ghrudur was too nauseous to appreciate when he crossed the threshold into Edoras proper, a feat unprecedented among the minions of Saruman. It took all his will not to vomit as the cart lurched up the hill toward the seat of the king. The original five Gondoran soldiers were joined by twenty grim Riders of Rohan, most of whom glared down at the helpless orc with nothing short of hatred in their faces. Ghrudur closed his eyes just to spare himself that hostile scrutiny.<p>

When the procession finally halted for the final time, Ghrudur stiffened when he felt rough hands grab his legs and begin to drag him bodily from the cart. His eyes flared open in panic.

"Hey!" Lynn cried as she leaped down from the buckboard. "Take it easy with him!" Under her fierce guidance, the orc was placed on a litter and carried into the Golden Hall, then brought to a small room with a bed and fireplace. She had a hard time keeping the Riders from dumping him onto the bed, and was only partially successful. He was receiving hospitality they felt was undeserved and wished him to know how precariously he held onto such considerations.

"Honestly!" Lynn muttered when they were finally alone. She fussed over his comfort, making sure his limbs lay straight and his pillows were fluffed sufficiently. "Lucky you have a room, but really, they could have been a bit nicer about it."

"Fine," Ghrudur assured her. "Alive."

"Yeah, for now," she conceded with a half smile. "Maybe I can talk the servants into letting you have some leggings. You're probably getting a little tired of dangling free."

The orc snorted and shrugged. "Don't care. Easy for you."

"I hope you mean it's easier for me to help you relieve yourself," she replied.

A teasing grin split his face. "You want touch _ghru_, make easy for you."

"Naughty Ghru," she admonished with a wink. Yet she slipped her hand under the blanket and slid it up the inside of his thigh a few inches. Grinning at his shocked look and obvious arousal, she flounced out of the room to fetch their gear.

The door opened again, and Ghrudur said with a laugh, "_Skaat-krut agh kramp za urzkû_!" But it wasn't Lynn who walked in. [Translation: Come back and do that again!]

The orc shrank into the bedding, all humor erased from his face. The tall, imposing man who entered glowered at him. It was clear he was angry enough before he arrived, and made livid when he heard the hated orcish language spoken so freely in his hall.

"Eomer!" Lynn cried as she bustled in. Dropping her bundle, she threw her arms around the man's neck in a fierce hug he only half-heartedly returned. The horselord seemed unwilling to take his malevolent gaze off the orc.

"This is an unexpected surprise," Lynn continued, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room. "I thought we'd have to wait until tomorrow to get an audience with you."

"I do not want this...creature under my roof any longer than is needed," the King of the Mark spat. "Do not get comfortable. Speak your piece now."

Lynn sobered immediately, shifting to a businesslike tone. Beginning with her discovery of the orc, Lynn told him everything save Ghrudur's deepest shame, describing in nauseating detail every other injury and wound. When she finished, Eomer still looked pissed, but at least a shadow of doubt could be seen.

"Look here," Lynn said, fishing the dagger from her pack. "You know this blade. You know it was used on a _nazgul_. He made this. Here is his mark." Though the king's lip curled with disgust at the ugly weapon, he obviously recognized it. Glancing at the orc, he was curious to see what could only be pride in the orc's expression as Lynn praised the weapon's making.

"Eomer," she pleaded, "he just wants to live in peace. He can work the forge. I know you lost many smiths in the war, and threats are still battering at your doorstep. He's willing to forge weapons for Rohan, in your name. At least...at least give him a chance."

"You would have me spare him," Eomer said acidly, "as if the woman I rescued on the plains was someone other than yourself. As if no indignities were committed on your person. As if you did not weep for _days_ in horror of what was done to you."

Lynn blanched and took a step back. Ghrudur stared at her, realization dawning. The thought of his own kind harming her infuriated him. And she kept this knowledge from him!

"_You_ lie!" he roared, startling both humans. The orc sat up, quivering with rage. "Said Mauhur do nothing but mark you. Said Ugluk not touch. What happen, Lynn? Tell true!"

"I didn't lie!" the woman cried.

"You 'stretch truth', then," Ghrudur snapped.

"What do you care, orc?" Eomer interrupted. "What does it matter to you what your fellows did to her?"

"It _matter_!" He bellowed so loudly the rafters shook. His fury was unparalleled. "_Shapogub-izg lat, uglub-izg uruk-hai amirzu tramuzut lat!_" [Translation: I will avenge you, I will slay the orcs who raped you!]

"Ghru, calm down!" she cried in alarm. "They're already dead, I've been avenged, but please, I swear, no one raped me!"

Eomer stared at the orc in confusion. He'd never seen an outburst of this kind before, except in a man whose wife had been harmed. He felt uncannily like an intruder on a domestic dispute.

"Why weep?" the orc barked, unconvinced. "No rape, just mark. Mark hurt? Weep for pain? Why weep?"

"Yes, it fucking hurt, you imbecile!" she yelled back. "It hurt like a son of a bitch! What do you think?"

"Pain not enough!" he roared. "See you. Strong woman. Pain not enough! Why weep?"

"Because I liked it!" she shrieked. That shut the orc down completely. He stared blankly at her. Eomer's jaw fell open. "I was ashamed, all right? I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. And he _knew it_!" Tears were forming in her eyes, her face had reddened, and her voice broke. "He knew it!" Turning, she fled from the room. They could hear her wailing all the way down the hall until distance muffled her cries.

The king and the orc remained in an uncomfortable silence for several minutes before Eomer found his voice. "I'll just...see what I can do." Then he left, closing the door behind him.

Ghrudur sat in shock. All his anger of a few minutes ago drained so quickly he was left weak and shaking. Easing himself back against the pillow, he tried to relax. Unwanted and inappropriately came the realization that when he finally earned the right to mark her himself, the act would be met favorably. It was an intoxicating thought and, like so many of his thoughts of late, it left him weak and trembling with an aching need.


	12. Strength of Womankind

**Chapter 12: Strength of Womankind**

"You...suck," Lynn snarled as she stood at the foot of the orc's bed. Her body shook, her fists were clenched at her sides, her face tear-streaked and puffy.

Ghrudur had to force himself to hold her gaze steadily. He could almost feel the anger in her eyes burning his flesh. He'd had time to think while she raged through the Golden Hall. One wrong word was likely all it would take for him to lose her completely.

"Don't want hurt you," he said brokenly. Grimacing, he shook his head. "_Nar nûmuz-izg lat nûlat. Nar iistuz-izg_." [Translation: I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't know.]

"Of course you didn't," she replied through clenched teeth. Whirling, she went to stand before the fireplace. No one had seen fit to build a fire there, and the room was cold. "I didn't want _anyone_ to know about that. You just _had_ to push and push until I broke, didn't you?"

"No shame," he ventured quietly. "Marking...good. Feel good." He knew, as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he was in for a blast of heat hotter than the sun.

"Did _you_ like it, when they were fucking you in the ass?" she roared, turning on him. He recoiled, but there wasn't anywhere for him to retreat to. "Did you get a hard-on? Did you come?" Sneering, she nodded. "I'll just bet you did. It's been known to happen. No matter how revolted you were, your little buddy didn't give a rat's ass, did he? I'll bet you're still ashamed of that, thinking it must mean something. Like maybe you wanted what they did to you. _How do you think I feel?_" she nearly screamed. "Surrounded by hundreds of orcs, a hair's breadth from being gang-raped, maybe killed if I was _lucky_. In front of my friends, no less, and them helpless to do anything about it. God, I was so relieved when all he did was bite me..."

Lynn raised shaking hands to rub her face. "If I fought him, he'd hurt me more. Maybe _do_ more. I had to be quiet and just...let him do it. I had to _let him_, do you understand? I couldn't fight. You fought, even though they made you sorry every time. It's obvious you did. I couldn't. I was terrified. If even _one _of them took me, the rest would..." She shuddered so violently she had to sit down on the edge of the bed.

Ghrudur closed his eyes and bowed his head. "No worse shame. Woman. Orc. Understand."

"No, you don't," she said quietly. "I'm not talking about the shame of lying with an orc. I don't care about that shit. I don't want _anyone_ taking me by force. Orcs, men, dwarves, elves...doesn't matter."

"You right," he said, his voice so low it was difficult to hear. "Sometimes get hard. Don't want. Happen anyway."

"There's a...gland, inside you," she said. "Very sensitive, when it's...rubbed. Pretty much only one way to get to it. It's why some men like that, if it's done right."

Ghrudur's brow furrowed, his lips curled with disgust. "'Done right'? What mean, 'done right'?"

"You won't believe me, but some men like other men more than women. When they make love, sometimes they do what was done to you, only gently, if they care about each other. They do it so they share pleasure."

"No," Ghrudur said, shaking his head vigorously. "Don't want. Hate. You lie. Can't do."

"Relax," she sighed wearily. "I'm not trying to talk you into having another go at it. I'm just trying to make you understand that, well, they say a man's penis has a mind of its own. It's very sensitive to touch. Or that gland I mentioned. Anyway, you could be going through the most horrible torture you can imagine, but if someone strokes your dick, it's all over. Well, maybe that's an extreme example, but you get my point."

"You? Can feel good when don't want?"

"Yeah, I've heard it goes both ways. There's this little nub right above a woman's opening. You rub that, she's your slave. Probably works under rough conditions as well, I don't know."

"Show me," he said softly.

"Like hell, I will," she said without heat. "I can barely kiss you, and you think I'm going to drop my pants in front of you? Dream on."

"What kiss?" he asked, bewildered by the unfamiliar word.

"When our mouths touched," she explained, her cheeks darkening. "That was a kiss."

"Want kiss," Ghrudur said.

"I'm sure you do," she replied, a slight smile on her face. Turning to regard the orc, Lynn felt the pulse of need begin to throb. "Don't know how you're doing this to me, you son of a bitch," she murmured as she leaned toward him.

Their lips touched. Ghrudur felt himself sinking and rising at the same time. She pressed against his mouth, and he fell back against the pillow. He felt her hand on his cheek, gently caressing. He longed to raise his arms and pull her against him, but he felt like a wet washrag, utterly weak and defenseless, but not afraid. A moan escaped him when he felt her mouth open his, felt her tongue slide in. So many sensations were assaulting him at once, he almost didn't feel her hand moving down to his chest, trailing down over his belly. Once aware of it, however, all his attention suddenly focused hard on the hoped-for destination of her hand. His member was already firmly at attention. Breath quickening, he whimpered as her fingers slipped beneath the blanket and touched him.

Lynn encircled his hot, rigid penis with eager fingers. His inability to respond, and the frustration he felt because of it, was intoxicating to her. She had complete control over him, could continue or stop at her leisure. She hadn't thought of herself as a predator until this moment, and the realization made her stomach clench. Squeezing her eyes shut, she withdrew her lips, removed her hand.

"I'm sorry, Ghru," she whispered. "I don't want you like this."

"Can have," he pleaded brokenly. "Take. Take all. Give you all."

"No." Standing, she looked upon the desperately aroused orc and felt sick. "If I do, I'm no better than... It's no different. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have even started."

"Give you. Can have," he said again, voice trailing off as he realized it was over. "Don't understand."

Lynn retreated a few more feet across the room, hugging herself and looking anywhere but at him. "I don't want you helpless. I don't want to risk hurting you." Laughing shakily, she said, "How would that look if your condition worsened because I selfishly fucked your brains out?"

"Don't care," he insisted. "Want fuck? Take fuck. Give you fuck."

She winced at his offer. "I don't want to fuck you, Ghru. I think we're beyond fucking at this point, don't you?"

"Mate, then," he said, not to be deterred. "Take mate. Mark you," he said, faltering for a moment as he remembered how angry she'd been earlier. "Not like Mauhur. Mark, good. Please."

"I can't," she said miserably. "God knows I want to, but I can't. It isn't right. Not yet." It was clear he was trying to hide his anger over the cruel denial. "You have every right to be mad at me. I don't blame you at all. Go ahead and yell if you want to."

"Not mad," he said, deflating and slumping against the pillow. "King kill if mark you. King kill if mate. King kill if wind blow wrong."

Lynn chuckled. "He's not that bad. I think he was impressed with you, actually."

Frowning, Ghrudur looked at her. "What do? Why?"

"You didn't back down, for one," she said with a wry smile. "Here you are, completely at the mercy of your enemies, and you actually _roared_ at me. Damn near came off the bed, because you didn't think I was _honest_ with you. You're a gutsy orc, Ghru. And there's the matter of the dagger you made. I think he's interested."

"Don't know you fight _nazgul_, use _thauk_," he said.

"You have a great gift. While it's debatable whether saving Delon's life was a noble thing, there's no denying the dagger saved _my_ ass. One sword broke, the other just...dissolved when I struck the wraith. All I had was your dagger. I poked him in the eye with it. Or...where his eye should have been, anyway. It must have hurt a ton, because he shrieked something fierce. Gave us the time we needed to get away. But one doesn't just poke a Ringwraith and get away with it. I almost missed the march on the Black Gates."

"Glad," Ghrudur said, nodding firmly. "_Thauk_ save you. Glad."

"Me too." Again, Lynn laughed softly. "I never thought I'd be glad I took that knife, and I certainly never imagined I'd get a chance to thank the maker in person."

* * *

><p>"Who are you?" Lynn asked as a middle-aged woman bustled into the room and started rearranging furniture.<p>

"Eomer king assigned me to the beastie's care," she snapped, shoving the chair across the room to rest beneath the window. She then ripped the curtains aside to let the early morning sunlight in. "Shameful! Look at the state of this room!"

"I'm sorry," Lynn said, glancing over at Ghrudur, who was equally nonplussed by the strange woman. "I'm managing quite well..."

"Are you a healer?" the woman challenged. "I was told the beastie needed seeing to by someone who knew something about mending broken bodies. If that isn't you, it must be me."

"Uh, right," the younger woman said slowly. "I'm Lynn. He's Ghrudur. I just call him Ghru."

"Doesn't matter what his name is," she grumped. "A beastie he is, that's what _I'll_ call him."

"Well, what should we call you?"

"Erna," she replied briskly as she roused the coals into life in the fireplace.

"Okay then, he's got a couple of broken..." Lynn began, but the woman waved her off.

"I've been told," Erna interrupted. "Don't stand around useless! Fetch hot water from the kitchens, get a maidservant to give you towels and soaps, and then see about the beastie's morning meal." When Lynn just stared at her dumbly for several seconds, the woman barked, "Scoot, now! Off with you!"

Shooting Ghrudur a helpless look, Lynn all but ran out of the room.

When Erna turned to the orc, he instinctively pressed back into the pillow, trying to retreat. The woman smiled.

"Never thought I'd live to see the day," she said. "Big strong beastie like you, afraid of little me."

He blinked. It was true, she was shorter than Lynn, yet her presence, the way she seemed to take over the room like a general commanding troops, made her seem larger.

"I'm told you understand Westron," she went on, using a sharp knife to cut through the bandage securing the splint on his arm. "But you speak it terribly. Say something."

"What say?" he mumbled, still very intimidated by her, and now very nervous about the knife coming so close to his heart.

"As I thought. That won't do," she commented. "When were you found?" she asked as she probed the site of the break with strong, sure fingers.

"Week."

She frowned at him. "Only a week ago?" At his nod, her brow furrowed even more. "This is nearly healed. I can't feel any signs of the broken bone." She then turned her attention to his heavily bound hand, unwrapping his fingers with more care than before.

"All right now," Erna said after removing all four splints. "See what you can do."

Focusing intently on his hand, Ghrudur imagined his fingers gripping a smith's hammer. Slowly, the fingers began to curl.

The orc's face split in a grin, and he began to laugh with profound relief. Glancing up at Erna's face, he didn't even care that she was looking at him as if he had gone mad. The movement hurt, but not enough to stop him from closing his fist almost completely.

"See? Good! Hold hammer. Make weapon." He tentatively raised his arm. The pain wasn't what it had been, though it stopped him from lifting the limb above his chest. He examined his arm with a critical eye and grimaced. "Weak. Can't work."

"Oh, you'll work," Erna assured him grimly. "Between Lynn and I, you will work yourself to the bone. Now let's see how the other arm is."

His left arm had required a second break, and so was further from being whole than the right. The crack in Ghrudur's pelvis seemed to have been the first to mend, for he hadn't felt pain in his hips for days. The femur break, however, was much slower to knit. But he now had both hands unwrapped and was keeping himself entertained making fists and plucking at his blanket.

Lynn staggered back into the room with two steaming buckets, soap, and washrags. Seeing the orc with his hands free of the mitten-like bandages, and moving his arms more freely, made her smile with relief.

"Good, you're back. Put those buckets beside the bed. I'll get started while you attend to his meal. Scoot!"

"But..."

"Go on! He's got nothing I haven't seen before!" Defeated, Lynn slumped out of the room. Ghrudur chuckled, his eyes twinkling.

"You win," he told Erna. "Don't see much. Lynn strong."

"Of course, I win!" the woman sniffed. "I always win. Just you remember that. She may be strong, but she's been too soft with you. If you're healing this fast, you should have been up and around before now. I'll have you hobbling down the hall by midday."

Erna set about sponging off his body. The orc feared her touch would arouse him, but she was so impersonal and quick, he felt almost nothing stir. Grateful, he allowed himself to relax. Lynn returned with a platter of food and helped him eat, though with his hands free, he was able to feed himself for the first time in months. That alone nearly made him sink into a state of bliss.

"Now, we're going to get him up and walking, but he's not going out of this room in the altogether," Erna stated firmly. "There's a laundry down past the kitchens. You go fetch some breeches and a shirt. I'll see to a crutch for him. Get along, now." The woman shooed Lynn out of the room ahead of her, leaving Ghrudur alone and slightly worn out.

As expected, however, Erna returned ahead of Lynn with a branch cut in the shape of a crutch. "This ought to be the right length," she said. "The stablemaster's about your height, and he used it last spring when he returned from the war. Now where is that foolish girl?"

Lynn hastened in as if answering the healer's summons. "I hope this fits. I got a couple of sizes, just in case."

"We'll know soon enough," Erna replied, snatching a pair of breeches from the younger woman's grasp. "Get him up."

Lynn helped him sit up and swing his feet onto the stone floor. The tunic she slipped over him fit fairly well, and he actually felt somewhat normal again. Erna eyed him critically, then settled on the smaller pair of breeches. Kneeling on the floor, she lifted his feet into them and pulled them up to his thighs.

"Stand up, now," Erna commanded as she rose. Lynn eased him to a standing position, and he wobbled on his good leg for a moment before achieving balance. The healer swiftly pulled the breeches up to his hips, and to his embarrassment, tucked him into place before tying the laces firmly.

"There," Erna said, looking him up and down. "You'll still give the lasses a fright, but less now that you're covered."

"I haven't seen anyone in this hallway since yesterday," Lynn said.

"What do you expect?" the healer replied impatiently. "The place cleared out when it was heard Eomer King was hosting such a guest. I know of at least one advisor who's taken up lodgings in the stable rather than sleep under the same roof as this beastie."

"Not beastie," Ghrudur growled under his breath.

"Aye, that you are," Erna snapped, poking him in the chest. "Make no mistake, every eye's on you, orc, and they all see the same thing."

"Want...want _bukot_," he said. "Don't want fight men. Not beast. Smith. Want make weapon for Rohan king. Kill orcs. Fight for king."

"You want a bucket?" the healer asked, bewildered.

"He said _bukot_," Lynn offered. "It means 'peace.'"

"Yes, well, you'd better not speak that filthy tongue around here, young beastie. And if it's peace you want, you'll have a tough road, no matter that Eomer King thinks you're a decent fellow." Tucking the crutch under Ghrudur's left arm and directing his hand to hold it, she stepped back. "All right now, take a few steps. Girl, let go of him, he doesn't need your fussing."

The orc took a single step on his good leg, leaning on the crutch, and toppled over. Lynn was quick to catch him, and he wrapped his right arm around her neck, holding on for dear life. The healer stood impassively, watching him struggle. Infuriated by his weakness, Ghrudur lurched back up, lips pressed tightly over his jagged teeth, and tried another step. This time he didn't put any weight on his broken leg, using the crutch for what it apparently was, a replacement. Still, the unfamiliar juggling of stick and leg was awkward, and he collapsed again. Frustrated, the orc roared, nearly pushing Lynn away as he scrambled back up.

"You can be stubborn, beastie, but don't be stupid," Erna chided. "Let her help you. This isn't going to be easy. Now try again."


	13. Progress Report Gone Awry

**Chapter 13: Progress Report Gone Awry**

"You wanted to see me, Lord?" Lynn asked. Though she spoke below her usual volume, her voice echoed in the empty hall.

"Yes, thank you for coming so quickly," Eomer replied. At his right hand was Gamling, looking stern and a little hostile. Eomer's expression softened. "When we're alone, you may call me by name, my friend."

Hiding her smile, she said, "As long as Ghru and I are guests here, I would feel better showing you the proper respect."

Both men snickered, exchanging glances.

"What?" Lynn asked innocently, her own smile fighting like mad to surface. "All right, fine." She let herself laugh with them.

"I would like to hear your assessment of the orc's present condition, Lynn," Eomer said.

Taking a deep breath, she said, "He's doing very well. The last week with Erna helping out has been like a miracle. She rides his ass harder than I ever could, that's for sure. All the splints are gone now, and he's starting to get his arm strength back. To look at him, you almost wouldn't know he was so close to death, except he still needs the crutch. His leg is really taking its sweet time, but I suppose it's the thickest bone in the body, so that could be why."

As she gave her report, Eomer and Gamling exchanged worried glances. The orc was recovering much faster than any of them guessed.

"Lynn," Eomer said, "is he able to walk without aid?"

"A bit, for short periods. He gets tired easily, but he's pushing himself a bit more each day."

"I think it is time you assigned a second guard, Gamling," Eomer said, turning to his marshal. "I don't want the orc wandering around the halls..."

"What are you saying, Eomer?" Lynn interrupted. "He's no danger to anyone."

"He is an _orc_, or had you forgotten?" the king retorted.

"Hardly," she snorted. "All right, if it'll make you feel better. By all means, assign another Rider to the world's most boring job." She rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"It is my hope that it _remains_ a boring job," Gamling said stiffly. "I do not trust the beast as you do, for obvious reasons. I cannot fathom why you _do_ trust him."

"He owes me his life," Lynn allowed. "He is an Uruk, not just any old orc. They are quite a bit different from their cousins. They can be stubbornly single-minded about...certain things," she concluded awkwardly, looking away.

"Has he made inappropriate advances?" Eomer asked, eyes narrowing as he watched her discomfort.

Several of Ghrudur's more colorful offers, requests, and comments flashed through her mind, and Lynn burst out laughing. Wiping a tear of mirth from her eye, she said, "No more than I have."

Gamling shot out of his chair and stared down at her, his face alight with shock and fury. His king was faster off the mark, however.

"Have you gone mad?" Eomer roared. "What have you done?"

Lynn closed the distance and stomped up the steps to the dais where Eomer sat upon his throne. Jabbing a finger in his chest, she snarled, "I am past the age of consent, even in this backwater world, and answer to no one. I am completely free to do as I like with _whom_ I like. If it offends you that Ghru has found favor in my eyes, then I'll pack him up and take him away from here." Straightening, she rested her hands on her hips. "It's nobody's business but ours."

"Have you lain with the beast in this very hall?" Gamling exploded. A vein in his temple looked to be at the point of bursting.

"Not that it's any of your god damned business, but no," she snapped. "It's not like your people give us a moment of privacy. Always barging in without even knocking. Then there's the guy standing in the hallway with his ear to the door. Worse than trying to sneak a feel in the backseat with your parents driving."

Eomer sank back into his throne, staring at the woman with his mouth hanging open. Gamling barely made it back to his own chair.

"What...how can you...," the king sputtered.

"Because I love him, for fuck's sake!" Lynn cried. "And here's another news flash – he's fallen quite hard for me, too. I don't think he knows what the word 'love' is, but he sure as hell feels it."

"Orcs do not feel such things," Eomer said weakly.

"How can you know he does not simply feel lust?" Gamling asked.

"Unlike men, he's bloody honest," she said. "He doesn't leave me guessing about anything. His heart is completely open."

"We are not talking about an unwise moment of passion shared with a stable hand!" Eomer roared, rising off his throne again.

"How is it different?" Lynn shot back. "In the grand scheme of things, how is it fucking different? He's a male, I'm a female, we've shared a hell of a lot over the last couple weeks."

"A stable hand would be far more acceptable," Eomer sneered.

"Oh really? And would you say the same to Eowyn?" she spat venomously. "If you hadn't grown to respect Faramir, would you have advised her to spread her legs for the stable hands? Isn't one dick the same as the next?"

Both men were unable to respond for several moments, as neither of them had been subject to Lynn's sharp tongue going full throttle. But she wasn't done with them yet. "You think _anyone_ chooses whom they love? Oh, I forgot, men don't care about such things. You'll stick your cocks into anything that doesn't run faster than you, and consider it your due, because 'men have needs.' Well, heads up, guys, women do too, and because you lot are so fucking retarded in the sack, we take it where we can get it. Guess what I discovered? Battle makes me hotter than a whore in the summertime! Was there anyone willing to take me up on the offer? Hell no! You all went to the brothels because 'women of quality' are too delicate, too pure for such things. Wanna know something? If I don't get some rough, rowdy sex _right this fucking minute_, I will tear down the walls around your ears! Now get the guards _the fuck_ away from the door and leave us alone!"

"You wouldn't...," Gamling breathed, horrible images of the woman coupling with the orc flashing into his mind.

"Watch me!" she roared. Turning on her heel, Lynn stomped down the steps and blew out of the hall like a storm, leaving a deathly silence in her wake.

When Eomer finally found his voice, it was quiet and calm, as if the slightest disturbance might rouse another hurricane. "She means to do it, doesn't she?"

"Aye," the marshal replied.

"We can't stop her, can we?"

"My king, I have fought many battles, stared death in the face and walked away. I have seen things that haunt my dreams. But there is no authority in this world or the next that will make me go after her."

"Agreed." Eomer sat for some time in silence, thinking. "Perhaps...perhaps it _is_ as simple a matter as she says," he said hesitantly. "The orc has done nothing to concern me, other than be an orc. There is still the matter of his skills at the forge that need to be tested. I would rather..."

The guard assigned to the orc's room came running into the hall, one hand clamped over his eye. "My lords! Eomer King!" the man cried as he skidded to a halt. Dropping to one knee awkwardly, he said, "The woman, Lynn, ordered me to leave, and when I wouldn't, she...she punched me! Then she blistered my ears with such language as I've not heard from the mouth of a woman in all my days! She kicked me all the way down the hall! I did not strike the woman, though I was sorely provoked."

"You would not be the first man so tempted," Gamling said with a shaky laugh. "Leave the matter to me. See the cook about some raw meat for your eye. But...do not return to your post. I believe...other arrangements must be made."

"She locked herself in the room with that...that orc," the guard insisted. "Harridan that she is, I fear for her safety."

Eomer chuckled. "Rather, it is the orc's welfare that concerns me."

Catching his sovereign's humor, Gamling laughed as well. "Yes, the poor creature has only just recovered."

"This will likely set him back," Eomer agreed.

Bewildered, the Rider's eyes flicked from one to the other. "What...what are you saying? That she will...she was not jesting? She intends to lie with the orc?" His face was a rictus of horror and revulsion.

Gamling descended the steps and placed a comforting arm around the stricken man's shoulders. "It would be best if you did not focus your thoughts on what may or may not be occurring in the orc's room at this moment. This is her choice, and woe betide the man who denies her."

* * *

><p>The shouting outside his door set Ghrudur's heart racing. There was the clatter of the guard's halberd against the flagstones in the hall, the familiar sound of fist striking flesh. More yelling. He knew it was Lynn; hearing her in full throat, battling the guard with a weapon he could not deflect, filled the orc with a mix of anxiety and amusement. What made her fly apart like that?<p>

The door banged open, striking the wall with a jarring thud. Just as vigorously, she slammed it shut, and pulled the lock they had been forbidden to engage.

"What..." he began, but it was all he managed before she was across the room and upon him. Her mouth stopped any further words he might have voiced, hungrily plundering his. She used her momentum to topple him backwards onto the narrow bed. Stunned, he could only lie there for a moment in confusion as she tore at the laces of his breeches. She writhed on his body as she pulled her own leggings off at the same time. Finally, he came to his senses, and gripped her hard, returning her kiss. It registered that she had gotten rid of the guard. They were completely alone.

She kicked her leggings off and straddled his hips, still fighting his laces. Ghrudur's hands slid down seemingly of their own accord to cup the soft flesh of her bare buttocks. "Get these fucking things off," she grunted against his mouth. Suddenly sitting up, she whipped her shirt off, flinging it across the room. Then she yanked once more at the stubborn knot. "God dammit, you bastard, who the hell are you trying to keep out?"

He couldn't answer. He had her ass in one hand and a breast in the other. His erection was throbbing so hard it was uncomfortable in the tight confines of the breeches. The orc wasn't taking questions at the moment.

The temporary setback was, perhaps, all that was needed to bring the woman to full realization of what she was doing.

"Shit, Ghru," she muttered, climbing hastily off him. Her current state of undress seemed to likewise fill her with horror as she tried to hide herself. Ghrudur struggled to sit up, grimacing over the tight containment of his breeches.

"What...," he croaked again and cleared his throat.

"I'm so sorry," Lynn sobbed. "How could I be so stupid? I'm no better...after what happened to you, and I just..."

"Lynn," Ghrudur interrupted, his voice thick and rough. "You better. Not like orcs. _Want_ touch. _Want_ mate." Taking a shuddering breath, he let it out slowly. No good. Using his claws, he picked at the knot carefully. It was tight enough before, but her desperate yanking had made it nigh impossible to untie. Without looking up from his task, he said softly, "Where guard?"

"I don't care," she replied, hugging her knees and staring across the room. She took a deep breath, and let it out on a shaky laugh. "I pretty much told Eomer and Gamling I was coming back here to fuck the shit out of you."

He froze for a moment, then clumsily continued. If he looked up at the expanse of naked flesh so close to him, he was certain to lose what little control he had. "What they say?"

Shrugging, she said, "Just what you'd expect. A lot of stuttering, looks of disgust, some swearing. Oh wait, that last was me."

"You fight them?" he asked tentatively.

"Verbally, yes."

"So...you horny now?" he said with a leer as the knot came loose. The relief was intense as his engorged member pushed its way out.

Glancing back at the orc, Lynn smiled. "Yeah, you could say that."

Grinning, Ghrudur peeled his breeches off swiftly and hauled the shirt off as well.

"You're...okay?"

Her serious tone made him hesitate. "Have dream. Hurt you. Don't want hurt you." He held up his hands and looked at the black claws. "Beast," he growled bitterly, clenching his fists.

Lynn turned toward him, moving his arm out of the way and pressing against him. They lay back on the bed, her comfortably in the crook of his arm, his hand resting on her hip. She traced the scars on his chest. "You're not a beast, Ghru," she said softly. "We'll take it slow. You won't hurt me." Smiling coyly at his raised eyebrow, she whispered, "I won't let you."

* * *

><p>Sunlight streaming in the window stirred Ghrudur from the deepest, most comfortable sleep of his life. He was content, relaxed, utterly sated. Stretching his back, he tucked both arms behind his head. It took a moment to realize he was alone in the bed, and he frowned. Opening his eyes, Ghrudur looked to his right, where she had snuggled between him and the wall. Gently stroking the space she'd left behind, he leaned over and breathed in her lingering scent, closing his eyes and smiling.<p>

"Orc."

Startled, Ghrudur raised his head. The last person he expected or wanted to see was in the chair opposite him.

"King," he muttered, sitting up.

"You needn't rise," Eomer said, lifting a hand. "In fact, I'd much rather you didn't." He cast his eyes about the room, taking in the clothing littering the floor.

"What want?" the orc asked warily.

"Reassurance, mostly," the man replied. "It is clear what happened here last night..."

_...bodies sweat-slicked, moving as one..._

"...I won't lie to you; the thought of my friend coupling with such as you..."

_...legs curled around his, nails digging into his hide, matching his rhythm, writhing beneath him..._

"...turns my stomach." He trailed off, suppressing a shudder. "Not something I want haunting my dreams."

Ghrudur growled low in his throat. "No hurt," he snarled. "Mate, not rape. No pain. No mark." The man did not miss the bitter disappointment the orc tried to mask from the last statement.

Eomer raised his hand to stop the orc from going into any more detail. "Somehow, I can't imagine you getting away with hurting her. I suspect she would have flayed you alive with her tongue alone."

_...tongue sliding up the back of his ear...__lips whispering down his belly..._

Frowning at the orc's distraction, the king continued, "Answer me this. Do you love her?"

Ghrudur shook himself. "What love?"

The man blinked. "You don't know? She hasn't mentioned it once?" The orc shook his head. Eomer pinched the bridge of his nose and squinched his eyes shut. "I suppose it would be best if you learned from someone other than her. Very well."

Nothing the king told him came as a shock. He already respected Lynn, had long since committed himself to her and her alone. He would kill anyone who meant her harm, and would gladly die for her. What the king failed to mention, Ghrudur supplied hesitantly, for these things were very much a part of his affection for the woman. "But...want talk, listen. Laugh. See."

_Sweet Valar_, Eomer thought. "Yes, those things as well," he replied awkwardly. It was supremely embarrassing to be reminded of the more companionable aspects of love by an orc. He thought back to how the orc had woken, looking almost fondly at the empty space where Lynn must have lain, caressing the sheet and breathing in... It was hard to remember in that moment that he was watching an orc, not a lovesick man.

"You are a puzzle, orc," he said. "But your...relationship with Lynn was not solely why I came here. Do you feel up to visiting our forge? Are you strong enough to swing a hammer, do you think?"

Ghrudur almost leaped from the bed in his eagerness. Remembering he was unclothed, he settled back down and nodded enthusiastically. "Want make weapon, yes. Strong now. Show you. Please."

"Good. I'm anxious to see how you made that dagger," Eomer said, clearly pleased with the orc's answer. "I will warn you, however, that though I have prepared my people as much as possible, you will still come as a shock to many. Right now you are a scandalous rumor. Your appearance at the smithy will undoubtedly cause quite a stir. Then there is the matter of Lynn." Rubbing his forehead, the king went on wearily. "She means to move you out of Meduseld and into a small house not far from the smithy. A house she intends to share with you."

The orc's expression gave away his elation at such news. Eomer glowered sternly at him. "This is not necessarily a boon, orc. My people have strong beliefs in the sanctity of marriage. A woman sharing her bed with one to whom she is not wed is nearly an admission of...well, certain...professions..."

"Whore," Ghrudur growled angrily.

"Yes, exactly," the king replied. "That would be the case if you were a man. Unfortunately, you are _not_ a man. While the folk here do not have a precedent on which to base any accusations, they will not treat her kindly. Perhaps they will disdain her more than you, even, regardless of every effort I make to defend her."

"Good woman," the orc snarled. "Good, good woman."

"I know she is," Eomer agreed gently. "I would not see her aggrieved for any reason. Nor would I see her forced to fight her own people each day."

"You want...," Ghrudur began, then growled ferociously. Gripping his head, he dug his claws into the scalp. "You want...leave woman. Push away." He glared hotly at the king. "You want that? You want hurt Ghrudur?" The orc struck his chest with an audible thump. "Tear heart out! Kill Ghrudur! Don't make Ghrudur leave woman!"

Eomer sat in silence for several moments. He hadn't spent much time in the orc's presence before now, and he was frankly surprised at the creature's completely open face. Every emotion passing through him was easily read. The orc was, if the king was any judge, desperately in love with Lynn. There would be no separating the two, he could see that now.

"Easy, now," the man soothed. "I will not ask that of you, or her. It is not my right, either as king or friend. But you must prepare yourselves. Lynn seeks to impose her beliefs on my people, make them embrace a former enemy as if... as if he were a misguided warrior from Dunland who seeks refuge. I fear greatly what may happen to them, should they take their anger to a physical level. Would you be able to ignore the sharp tongues of those who revile you? If someone were to hurl a stone at you, how would you respond?"

Ghrudur frowned in thought. He was no longer in Isengard. What _would_ he do? "Orc throw stone, kill orc. Orc insult, kill orc. What king _want_ Ghrudur do?"

"I want you to ignore insults. Do not rise to the bait, do not give them the satisfaction of angering you, for that is chiefly what they wish to do. If you feel compelled to attack, I must uphold the law and punish you." Smiling slightly at the orc's grimace, Eomer continued, "Should someone assault you, either by throwing something or striking you, do _not_ respond in kind. In this you must consider yourself...less than one of my people. I would forgive a man getting into a fight if provoked; I cannot allow such behavior from you. No, it is not fair," he acknowledged as the orc puffed up with indignation. "Even now, so recently recovered, you are stronger than most able-bodied men here. You could easily kill with your bare hands, likely without realizing it. I do not want to see even one of my people murdered by you, no matter how justified you believe yourself to be."

"Hurt Lynn, Ghrudur kill. Not listen king. Kill man. Don't care."

"Do so, and I may order your death, orc," Eomer replied sternly. "There are laws in place here to deal with crimes of that nature. In this, you will be treated equally. Commit a crime, and you will be punished. Do not follow a crime done to yourself or your...woman...with another crime. That is not acceptable. Do we have an understanding?"

Wordlessly, Ghrudur nodded with a grimace.

"Very good. Now dress yourself. I will wait outside. It is my hope that, if I escort you to the smithy, you will be afforded some...legitimacy. And perhaps encounter fewer problems." Eomer rose and went to the door. Pausing halfway out to the hall, the man turned. "One more thing. I have arranged for you to be Holger's apprentice. I realize you are likely beyond apprenticeship at this point, but it would be best if you were subordinate to a known smith for now. He understands what he is getting in you, and is prepared for your skill."

Alone once more, Ghrudur rose and dressed in a fog. He was going back to the forge. Lynn was getting them a house together, removing them from the watchful eye of the king. All he had to do was avoid conflict, and he could remain there, safe from other orcs, making weapons for this king who showed him far more tolerance than he could have hoped.

Life was good.


	14. The Walk of a Million Miles

**Chapter 14: The Walk of a Million Miles**

Avoiding conflict hadn't sounded so impossible when he was safely inside Meduseld. Ghrudur swallowed hard, barely aware of what Eomer King was saying to the throngs of people gathered at the foot of the steps. He wished Lynn was there; he hadn't seen her since they drifted off to sleep the night before, wrapped in one another's arms. The king told him she would be at the smithy, waiting for them. It seemed to be a thousand miles away, though he could see the forge fire's smoke rising into the cloudless sky from where he stood.

"...understand what it means to you all. Your suffering these many years has not gone unnoticed, and is not forgotten..."

It was a struggle to maintain a passive stance, to keep his face expressionless. Most of all, to keep from scowling or glaring at the hundreds of angry faces turned toward him. Lynn said once he always looked angry; he didn't know if that was true. He sincerely hoped not. His fingers twitched, desperate to clench into fists, yet held at bay lest he convey with even the slightest movement that he intended mischief. Ghrudur barely allowed himself to breathe.

"...ask only that you show your quality as honorable men and women of the Riddermark. Your full acceptance is not expected overnight, but your restraint in allowing him to prove _his_ quality _is_ expected..."

Bold words, the orc thought. He could tell from their reactions that his quality had already been proven where they were concerned, and it was sadly lacking. Nonexistent, as a matter of fact. With the grim humor of one who has looked death in the face and begged it to embrace him, Ghrudur mused on his chances, whether he would make it all the way to the smithy, or be slain on the way. Would it be within ten feet of the Golden Hall? Twenty? Would he get as far as the stables before they finished him off? Perhaps his body would drop over there by that haystack where a group of grim-looking men stood, but he was fairly certain his head would continue, flying through the air to land at least, oh, maybe four or five yards farther.

And what would Lynn do if that happened? Damn, she'd tear the place apart. An amused grunt snuck out of him for a second before he clamped down hard to suppress it. Glancing around, he was relieved to see it had gone unnoticed. Yes, Lynn on the warpath, rolling over Edoras like a mumak... It would be worth a little roughing up just to see that. Then, after the fighting...

Sighing, he gazed forlornly at the smithy in the distance. He longed for her company, her strength, her reassuring touch at this moment. Standing in front of these people like a target was wearing him down. Even assuming he _did_ get as far as the forge, he still wasn't sure he could raise a hammer over his head. Assuming this Holger person would consent to hand him such a thing on the first day. Ghrudur was under no illusions; he knew it would be a long time before anyone put anything even remotely resembling a weapon in his hands.

"...forged a weapon that struck one of the most powerful servants of the Dark Lord, and was not destroyed..."

Hmph, he grumped. As if the dagger wielded itself. A tremor of apprehension passed through him. How was he supposed to duplicate what he'd done in Isengard? He wasn't even certain his dagger had not been tampered with by Saruman, lending it additional strength, before Mauhur marched off with it. Even the ore he used could have been tainted by the wizard's sorcery. And it had been a long time since he last held hammer and tongs. Curious how a scant year could hold a lifetime, so many things he did not want to remember, precious little of what he _did_.

The orc's ears pricked at the sound of his name.

"...Ghrudur will be apprenticed to Holger for the time being. I expect his tenure to be uneventful," the king said, putting particular emphasis on the last word, "and I hope I do not need to remind the proud people of Rohan that the laws of our fathers still apply, not only to the orc, but to you as well." His stern countenance brooked no argument, though several heads ducked and a low murmur of protest could yet be heard.

Turning to the orc, Eomer nodded curtly and began to descend the stairs. The moment of truth had arrived. Taking a deep breath, Ghrudur took the plunge.

The Rohirrim parted before their king and the orc. Ghrudur kept his head down, eyes on the heels of Eomer's boots. On either side, he could feel hostile eyes, hear the hiss and growl of angry voices. While he knew Gamling reluctantly had his back, there were no Riders guarding his flanks. No one stood between the orc and the citizens of Edoras.

They were closing ranks all around him. Ghrudur hadn't thought it possible for his stomach to clench any tighter until he started seeing booted feet in his peripheral vision. His breathing grew heavier and faster as panic began to grow. How had he ever held his own in battle, when being surrounded by a mob of humans could reduce him to this? He wanted nothing more than to flee for the gates, and not stop running until his heart burst. Which would mean leaving Lynn behind.

Scowling at the thought, he looked up. He fixed his gaze defiantly ahead. Let them glare, let them hate, let them plot their vengeance. Ghrudur had not once shown a brave face before his woman. It was time to muster one up. Make himself worthy of the gifts she bestowed. Deserve the feel of her, the right to taste her, to mark her as his mate. Swallowing hard with no little annoyance, he willed his body to remain calm in spite of the surge of lust that always barreled through him when he thought about erasing Mauhur's claim with his own.

With his head raised, he could see the faces more clearly. Furrowed brows. Teeth bared by curling lips. Arms crossed over chests. Women peeking around the shoulders of men standing protectively before them. The big, curious eyes of a child who had squeezed through the barrier of legs to get a look at the monster.

It was a little girl with golden yellow hair and blue eyes. She was young enough to be bold and fearless, untouched by the horrors of war. Unexpectedly, she walked up and gaped at him.

"Are you a real orc?" she whispered incredulously. A woman hastily came up behind her and took hold of the child's shoulders, trying to pull her back to the safety of the crowd. The little girl would not be budged.

Ghrudur halted and swallowed. She was so small, so delicate. He must be a mountain of horrors to her young eyes. Taking a deep breath, he dropped to one knee in front of her, trying to look less threatening, though he knew it was pointless. He could already hear the murmur of the mob increase its angry tone.

"Yes," he said, his voice a low rumble. He touched his chest. "Real orc."

She cocked her head to the side. "Do you kill men?" It was not an accusation, just a simple question.

"No more," Ghrudur replied, shaking his head. "Don't want kill men."

"You talk funny," she said.

He chuckled and ducked his head to hide his smile. "Don't learn man's tongue well."

"Why not?"

Shrugging, he said, "Not army. Don't need man's tongue so much."

"What tongue do you speak, then?"

"Orc tongue," he replied.

Her eyes widened. "Orcs have their own tongue? What does it sound like? Say something!"

He was startled by her request, no, demand. Trying to calm his heart, and ignore the crowd that would undoubtedly overcome whatever held them at bay once they heard him speak, he said quietly, "_Kul-izg uruk, naan narnargzab-izg nûlat hinash._"

She grimaced. "What did you say?"

"Say, am orc, but don't want hurt anyone."

"That's not what it sounded like," she said skeptically.

"What sound like?" he asked. He found himself nearly as fascinated by this child as she clearly was by him. She was so entirely without fear. He didn't think any of her elders would have dared approach him, no matter what the king said about his intentions.

"You sound like you have something caught in your throat, and you're swearing a lot about it," she said. Ghrudur laughed and smiled at the child. That was a fairly accurate description, he thought. "My da used to swear a lot when he was mending fences," she went on conversationally. "He went away to Gondor and didn't come back. Ma said you came from Gondor. Did you see my da?"

Ghrudur winced and bowed his head. Feeling hostile glares upon him more than ever, the orc slowly raised his eyes to the girl's. "Not from Gondor. From Isengard. Not in Gondor long. Not...see da."

"Oh," she said quietly, disappointed. "Ma says he rides with Béma. Do you have a da?"

"No," he said, feeling even more uncomfortable.

"Does he ride with Béma too?"

Ghrudur shrugged. "Don't know."

She tilted her head once more, yet her expression seemed to be sympathetic. "Maybe they ride together."

"Don't think your da like my da," he said, forcing a laugh.

"Probably not," she agreed, and sighed. "Are you a smith?"

Had he not spent so much time on the roller coaster that was Lynn's train of thought, he might have been startled by the sudden change of subject. "Yes. Make weapon."

"You'll like Holger," she said with a smile. "He always shoes ma's horses. Will I see you at the forge?"

"Hope so," he said, and found he genuinely wanted to see this little girl again. "What name?"

"Brynhild. What's yours?"

"Ghrudur."

"I'm glad to have met you, Ghrudur," she said formally, dropping a curtsy.

He could only nod and incline his head politely.

The woman behind her who must have been her mother finally succeeded in spiriting the girl away, back among the crowd of humans. Ghrudur rose. Though there was no physical resemblance between Brynhild and Lynn, he sensed that the girl was just as headstrong as her. He could easily imagine Lynn bearing a daughter such as Brynhild.

After giving Ghrudur a curious look, Eomer resumed leading the way to the forge. He hadn't even realized the king was paying that close attention to what happened. The encounter with the little girl weighed heavily on the orc's mind. While he could imagine a child born to Lynn, it seemed to hit him that, if she were his mate, the child would also be _his_. A hideously misshapen creature, most likely.

Her words seemed to float back to him..._spend the rest of my days pumping out half-orc babies..._

She had shuddered at the horrifying thought of bearing the miserable get of his kind. He felt suddenly consumed by shame for his selfish desire for a child of his own making, and guilt for subjecting such humiliations on the unfortunate woman he wanted to bear it.

He was no better than the select few chosen for breeding in Orthanc, he mused. If he lay with Lynn again, he might put a child in her belly, if he hadn't already. The thought terrified him, suddenly. If he got her with child, she would undoubtedly seek a means of ridding herself of it, and she would be justified in doing so. Certainly none here would condemn her for it.

Too soon, the smithy came into view ahead. He hadn't even realized it was so close, so intently was he pondering. His height afforded him a good view of the entrance, where he saw a burly man standing with his arms crossed and feet set apart, a scowl on his face. Beside the smith stood Lynn, beaming a huge smile at the orc.

Ghrudur felt that running away as soon as possible would be the best thing for both of them.


	15. Bird's Nest

**Chapter 15: Bird's Nest**

As expected, Holger only allowed Ghrudur to haul wood and ore for smelting. Though he had shown grudging approval of the one example of the Uruk's skill, the burly smith was still wary of his new apprentice. Ghrudur did everything asked of him quickly and efficiently; there was little difference in the running of Holger's forge from how those in Isengard operated. Except, perhaps, that mistakes did not necessarily lead to torture and death.

Even without a hammer in his hand, Ghrudur was worked like a mule, collapsing at the end of each day, his energy spent. Though he was recovering his strength and stamina from such a long time idle, it was not returning overnight. He no longer worried about impregnating Lynn; the smith kept him working from dawn to dusk. He couldn't perform if she asked him to. If she were crawling all over his body. If she knelt between his knees, lips parted, hooded eyes holding his for a long moment...

A shiver ran through his weary body. Actually, if Lynn did that again, he'd somehow find the resources required to do his part.

He ducked his head, grinning, as he made his way back up to the Golden Hall. Though Lynn had been anxious to move them into a home of their own, heedless of Eomer's warnings, she quickly learned that they were safer where they were. The Uruk winced at some of the names whispered behind their backs, words his sharp hearing picked up far more clearly than hers did. It seemed that his presence was tolerated better than the implication of their relationship was.

At least Eomer allowed them a larger room. Lynn had seen to that concession, and perhaps that was another bit of fuel for the fire. Now it was no longer implied that she lay with an orc; she had all but slapped the people of Edoras in the face with it.

Mounting the steps, he nodded a greeting to the door wardens and passed inside. It was a relief to feel the cool shadows of the hall envelop him as he made his way down the passages that led to his new home. No more harsh scrutiny or hate-filled eyes. The servants had grown used to him, and while few of them came anywhere near the room when he was within, at least they still performed their duties.

His hand was on the knob when he heard a familiar voice behind the door. The words froze him in his tracks.

"_...should prevent issue, if taken right away."_

"_It, uh, won't kill me, will it?" Nervous laugh._

"_The whores swear by bird's nest seeds. As I said, no decent woman would resort to such measures."_

"_I'm not a decent woman. Where I come from, this is common practice. Does it work before? As a preventative?"_

"_That depends on how long before..." Pause. Cleared throat. "Forgive me, it is...difficult to think of the beastie..."_

"_Then don't think about it. Pretend I'm talking about some Rider, if it'll make you feel better. How long does the affect last?"_

"_An hour or two at most. You would not want to risk it longer than that."_

"_So if I miss it, I can always take it afterwards."_

"_Yes."_

"_How...long after?"_

"_Not long. You would want to take it within a day."_

_Silence._

"_Lynn?"_

"_I'm fine. It's okay."_

"_Hush now, child. You needn't weep. If it is too late, there are other measures we may take to cleanse you."_

Ghrudur was shaking. Turning, he slowly made his way further down the hall. He didn't even know where he was going. Didn't hear the surprised gasp of a servant girl as he passed. Finally, he was stopped by the rail across the western balcony, overlooking a wooded decline curving round the mountain to the plains far below. It took a moment to realize he was staring at a sliver of the sun as the horizon slowly consumed it.

He was numb. Ghrudur had barely touched her since that first night they shared together, he was so weary. Unexpectedly, he saw the crystalline blue eyes and wavy blond hair of Brynhild in his mind's eye. A vision of perfection Lynn would never know. Not with him.

He closed his eyes. It should not be a surprise, that Lynn would seek to rid herself of his leavings. That thought had been in his mind the moment he realized the consequences of their actions. Upon seeing the little girl, and feeling the strong pull, the desperate need.

Gripping the rail, he stared down at the trees. So far away. But was it far enough? Would the fall be enough?

"How much did you hear, beastie?"

His head jerked up, awareness flooding back. Turning, he met Erna's gaze. "Enough."

Pulling her wrap tighter around her shoulders, the healer came to the rail and watched the sunset. Warily, Ghrudur looked as well, though the serenity of it was utterly lost on him at the moment.

"Tis a beautiful thing, bringing a child into the world," Erna said softly. "I have always said children bring out the best in us."

"Not orc child," Ghrudur snarled bitterly. "Give pain. Give shame."

To his surprise, Erna chuckled. "Just like a man. Can't see past your own nose." Glancing at his blunt feature, she smiled. "In your case, not even that far." Returning her gaze to the horizon, she went on, "Pain and shame are such small things, and they do not last. If your Lynn bedded a Rider of the Mark, a stablehand, or the king himself, it would be the same. She is not wed. That alone would shame her in the eyes of many."

"She beds orc," Ghrudur growled in a low voice. "Hear whispers. Shame more."

"True, people do whisper," she replied. "It doesn't matter. Lynn is not ashamed of you."

"Do not want child. Orc child, bring shame." Once more, he gazed longingly over the rail.

"Liar," she said gently. "You want a child of your own. You want Lynn to give it to you. That is perfectly natural."

Tearing his eyes away from the inviting drop, Ghrudur glared at the healer. "Not natural." He thumped his chest with a clawed hand. "Beast. You say, 'beastie.' Not natural. Give...unnatural child. Ugly child."

"Is _that_ what this is all about?" Erna said. "Dear me, you know so little of women, your lady least of all." Noting the orc's apparent fascination with the precipitous view, she frowned at him. "Do you truly believe it would please her if you took your own life?"

"Mine to take," Ghrudur growled, looking away.

"Not anymore, it isn't," she replied. "Now, enough of this nonsense. You march yourself back to your lady and tell her what ails you. She's beside herself with worry. The maidservant was too flustered to give a coherent description of what she saw in you when you all but knocked her into the wall."

He blinked at the healer in surprise. "Did nothing," he protested, though he couldn't say for certain that he hadn't done exactly what she described.

"No harm done," Erna assured him, yet her hand on his arm was firm as she steered him away from the rail. "You might sit quietly and listen to what Lynn has to say to you, as well. You may be surprised by her perspective on this. Go on! Off you go!"

Ghrudur stumbled forward a few paces after she shoved him down the hall. When she spoke again, he paused.

"I think you should know," she said, "that some whispers are not against you. By speaking gently to a tiny child, you planted doubt in many a heart. Folk who thought they knew what it meant to have an orc in their midst are not so sure now."

As she passed by him, Erna laid a hand on his arm for a moment, then she continued on around a corner and was gone.

Steeling himself, Ghrudur made his way back to the room he shared with Lynn.

Upon opening the door, he saw her pacing up and down, twisting her fingers nervously. She didn't note his appearance until the latch clicked on closing. He leaned against the door and just looked at her for a moment.

"Ghru," she said, slowly approaching him. "Whatever you thought you heard, I just want you to know..."

"Is fine," he said, bowing his head and shaking it. "Erna tell me."

"No, I don't think it's fine," she insisted. "Come here." Turning, she went to the bed and sat down. "Sit. Please." She patted the space beside her. Reluctantly, Ghrudur obeyed.

"I haven't been honest with you," Lynn said hesitantly. "Or myself. I saw you with that little girl. It didn't even occur to me until that moment what sleeping with you might do. It was like a slap in the face."

"Hard slap," he agreed. "Hit me too."

"I'm not ready, Ghru," she said quietly. "Not ready to be a mom. Good grief." She rubbed her forehead with a shaky hand. "The people here just sort of take it for granted, you know. Find a man you love, drop a litter of kids. I've never been one of those people." Shifting position so she faced him, Lynn said sternly, "This has nothing to do with you. I'm not trying to avoid having a baby because of what it might look like or what people will say. I'm just not ready yet. The operative word is _yet_, Ghru. It's not forever."

He didn't dare look at her face. If she were lying, if she only meant to ease his fears with falsehoods...

He felt her fingers brush the back of his ear, gently caressing the ridge. It was unsettling, the way her touch could so easily and completely enslave him. Shivering from the waves of heat that soared through him, Ghrudur weakly collapsed, lying on his back across the bed they shared.

Lynn slowly peeled his tunic off. Sliding off the bed, she knelt to remove his boots. His breath was coming in short, grunting gasps. Already, his member was hardening, tenting the front of his breeches. Smiling, she stroked her hands up his legs to the laces, and took her time untying them. She wasn't shy about rubbing his stiffening penis through the leather as she did so.

When he was freed, she pulled his breeches down and off. Not for the first time, she admired his body. The last few days at the forge had added definition to muscles wasted by inactivity borne of injury and abuse. He was filling out again, taking on the bulk expected of an Uruk. It was enough to make her mouth water.

Mere moments were required to divest herself of her own clothing. Ghrudur hadn't moved, hadn't even raised his head to look at her. Worried again, Lynn climbed into the bed, under the covers. "Ghru," she said softly, unsure.

As obedient as a servant, Ghrudur crawled up to lie beside her, allowing her to embrace him. Though his body quivered against her, he made no sound, said no words, and did not look at her.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," she whispered, stroking his cheek. Finally, his eyes rose to meet hers.

"Do not kill child," he murmured. "Is... pain." He pressed his hand to his chest. "Much pain. Please, do not kill child."

"Ghru," she said firmly, "I will give you everything you ask for. But I can't give you that. Not _yet_. Please don't make me choose."

"Choose?" he questioned, worry creasing his brow.

"I want to be with you," she said, leaning in to kiss his mouth. "Like this." Her hands slid down over his taut backside. "I can't if you won't let me delay things."

He contemplated her words as much as he was able while her hands roamed his body, and her mouth kissed his throat, ears, shoulders...

"You said once," she murmured, "that marking felt good. Show me."

As she had hoped, a spasm of desire raced through him, and he quickly returned her embrace. His hot breath against her skin sent shivers through her body as well. He rolled on top of her, and her legs parted around him. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to slow down. He nipped at her throat, grazed his teeth across the skin.

For a moment, apprehension at the use of teeth in this ritual assailed her, and she wondered if they should establish a 'safety word' before beginning. But then an even worse thought entered her mind.

She didn't want to think about Mauhur, but he invaded nonetheless. The dead Uruk's marking had not been welcomed or asked for, and its memory cast a pall over Ghrudur's attempt now. Closing her eyes, she forced him back, pushed his malevolent presence out of her mind, and focused on the scent of her lover, the tenderness of his touch. Tilting her head to the side, she exposed her neck to him.

It took her a moment to realize Ghrudur had entered her, was slowly stroking, growling deep in his chest, as his teeth continued to graze and nip. She almost swore out loud; how could she have missed the feel of him? Was that bastard's memory so pervasive it could even shut out _that_?

Her anger dissipated quickly under Ghrudur's attentions. She could feel the crescendo building unexpectedly early, and clutched his backside with splayed, groping fingers, kneading the firm muscles, digging in occasionally with her nails. He groaned, thrusting hard and fast a few times before forcibly slowing himself once more. She felt his mouth moving across her neck, strained taut as she offered it up.

It was insane. She was fast approaching a massive, explosive orgasm, and she _knew_ it would happen the moment he pierced her skin. Whimpering quietly, she reached up and pushed his head down.

"Stop teasing me," she whispered huskily. She could feel his smile against her skin, the rumble of a laugh in his chest. His only answer was an increase in the power and speed of his thrusts.

Finally, he settled in the curve of her neck, the muscle that ran from her head down into her shoulder. Parting his lips, he eased his mouth closed over the flesh, and began to suck.

_Oh Jesus_, Lynn thought wildly, _he's giving me a hickey_. There was no room in her mind for Mauhur now; her thoughts were torn between the enthralling pull at her neck and the increasing tremors between her legs.

Without warning, his teeth sank into her flesh. She barely registered the pain as his other attentions sent violent spasms of pleasure rocketing through her. He lingered for several moments as she bucked beneath him, sucking hard a few times until the flow diminished. Then he pulled back, raised himself on his arms, and looked down at her face. Still, he stroked inside her, though at a more gentle pace. A caress, a whisper. Prolonging their union, reluctant for it to end.

Lynn had no idea if he had come or not. She felt delirious, weak, and very tired. There was no pain anymore; his face was peaceful above hers, and she felt compelled to touch his cheek.

"Good?" he breathed, his voice a little unsteady.

"Very good," she replied.


	16. Epilogue: What the Hell Just Happened?

**Epilogue: What the Hell Just Happened?**

"Ah, news from Edoras," Aragorn sighed, relieved. There were many papers stacked before him on the dining table, mostly reiterations of the devastation visited upon his people by the Dark Lord's servants when they scattered. Not all sought refuge in dark holes or noisome swamps. It saddened him that he could not solve everyone's problems all at once, but must address them piecemeal when his resources allowed. He'd long awaited the happy distraction of news regarding Eomer's nuptials, if the horse lord would ever get round to it.

"Does it concern a wedding?" Arwen asked hopefully, sipping her broth and glancing at his face. Her husband's expression made her freeze, spoon hovering before her. "Love?"

The King's eyes blinked rapidly as they consumed the words on the page. And read them again, just to be certain. Then he flipped it over and over, looking for some sign that the travel-stained missive was a joke.

"O Elbereth, she didn't," he breathed, reading through the message once more.

"Who? Elessar! You frighten me!" Arwen cried.

"Lynn," he said flatly.

Arwen breathed a sigh of relief. Her thoughts had often strayed to the woman who departed so many months ago, off to slay orcs with Captain Delon. "Is she well? We have heard nothing..."

"That depends on your definition," Aragorn replied tightly. He passed the note to his wife.

Brow furrowed, the Queen read. Her eyes widened, her hand went to her throat. "Oh my."

"Indeed."

"How..."

"I've no idea. But I intend to find out."

"Why has _Eomer_ not sent word? It happened in his own hall!" she whispered, stricken. She let the parchment fall from numb fingers. "How could such a monster get so far past his guards..."

"Did you not read _all_ of what was written?" Aragorn roared, stabbing a finger at the message, so seemingly benign. "He did not _sneak in_ like some thief! He was _brought_, by _her_, and now they..." He winced, and sat down heavily in the chair he'd just left.

Though it disgusted her, Arwen lifted the letter and read it once more, seeing past her own discomfort to the words on the page. Her face paled.

"She loves him." The words seemed to fall like lead in her stomach.

"Aye." Aragorn stared at nothing.

"You must... you must speak to her. Make her see reason."

Aragorn's brows rose and he looked at his wife. "_Speak_ to her? _Make_ her?" Then he laughed. He laughed so hard his sides hurt. "No one _makes_ Lynn do _anything_." Rubbing his face roughly, Aragorn shook his head. "She is stubborn, that woman. And she has her own mind. There'll be no way to change it. Then there is the matter of... issue from such a relationship. If she has come to... love...," he choked, grimacing, "love one of _them_, he is either the most clever manipulator to ever draw breath, or..."

"Or what?"

Sighing, he shook his head. "Or he has earned it."

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><p><em>Dear Strider,<em>

_Yes, I know I should lead off with all sorts of honorifics and titles and the names of territories you govern blah, blah, blah. Face it, you'll always be a scruffy ranger sitting in a corner booth of the Pony to me. Listen, I've got some news. I figure you're the one most stuck in one place of anyone, being King and all, so be a dear and tell everyone else when you've got a chance, all right? Wow, I thought this would be easier. Okay. Best to just throw it out there. I'm pregnant. Yes, one got in under the radar while staying here in Meduseld. Turns out some 'seeds' are stronger than others, I guess. Not all the rules apply._

_So you're probably wondering who the dad is. That's not nearly as easy, believe it or not. Again, I have to just drop the bombshell. He's one of the Uruk-hai from Isengard. _

_I know you'll let Arwen read this, so I just want to say, __**don't blame Eomer for not having enough guards**__. If you've talked with__ that douchebag __Delon__ in the last few months, you may already know about Ghrudur, but if he's been occupied elsewhere beating the crap out of orc children, he probably hasn't been around much. __So I'll fill you in, briefly: I found Ghrudur in an orc camp. They tortured and starved him. He could barely move, he was in such bad shape. Maybe you think he deserved what he got, but __**nobody**__ deserves what happened to him. Anyway, __Elrohir stopped by and declared that I had to stick Eomer with the judgment call on what to do with him. __I __transported him here and __nursed him back to health and... well... stuff just happens, sometimes. I love him very much, and he loves me. Never imagined that, did you? I guess he __has__ just enough human blood in him to make a difference._

_Remember that dagger I used against the nazg__û__l way back when at Pelennor? This is the Uruk who forged it. He's working at the smithy here in Edoras, too. Eomer's pretty pleased with his work__. And you know something? __Ghrudur__'s pretty damn excited about being a father. Thanks me every single day for doing this for him. __He collars __Erna, the resident healer and midwife, __every time he sees her, demanding __a progress report __even if __she __hasn't seen me since the __**last**__ time he asked__. His offspring isn't going to be touched by a sick bastard of a wizard__, you see__, and that's no small thing for him. I'm not sure how thrilled __**I**__ am, since I'm already starting to show and my back hurts all the time, my feet are swollen, there is __**no **__ice cream to be had... But I'm happy. I have no regrets. You guys have to come out here for Eomer's wedding, if he ever __sets__ the damn __date, so you'll meet him then._

_Please don't worry about me. Honestly. Nothing was forced. Nobody got hurt. If he was a danger to anyone, Eomer would have him in the dungeon, not walking to and from the forge every day without an armed escort. He's as done with war and killing as we all are. He just wants to live a normal, boring life. So do I._

_See you soon, Eomer willing and the creeks don't rise__,__  
>Lynn<em>

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** _Finally!_ The long-awaited sequel has begun. The story picks up again with _Cure for Boredom: The Handmaid's Tale_. Enjoy!


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